I/ 


MARK     HEFFRON 


ALICE  WARD  BAILEY 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &   BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
1896 


Copyright,  189C,  by  HAUPKE  &  BBOTUKRS. 

All  rif/Ut  r nerved. 


MARK    HEFFRON 


THE  day  was  hot  and  dusty,  as  only  a  dry  July 
day  can  be  ;  half  a  dozen  wilted  women  and  a 
whimpering  baby  occupied  the  car.  Mark  Hef- 
fron  glanced  hastily  around  and  retreated  to  the 
smoker,  where  he  remained  until  all  the  passen- 
gers who  meant  to  go  to  bed  had  done  so.  The 
return  was  also  an  escape  ;  once  in  his  berth  he 
wondered  why  he  had  lingered  so  long  among 
heavy  jokes  and  twice-told  tales.  The  car  was 
cool  and  quiet.  The  odor  of  hemlock  and  pine, 
of  wintergreen  and  sassafras,  came  in  at  the  win- 
dow, telling  they  had  left  the  prairie  and  were 
now  in  the  woods.  It  was  a  cloudy  night,  lit  by 
an  unseen  moon  ;  through  its  mysterious  atmos- 
phere glided  the  tall  forest  trees. 

Mark  arranged  the  pillows  under  his  head  and 
prepared  to  enjoy  the  night.  "I  suppose  it  is 
getting  back  into  the  old  groove  which  makes  me 
feel  as  I  do,"  he  mused.  "I've  hunted  the  world 
over  for  thoughts  which  come  with  this  experi- 
ence as  easily  as  the  lullaby  with  the  cradle." 


2229181 


Ten  years  before  he  had  travelled  the  same 
road  when  the  moon  was  hidden  as  now,  there 
had  been  the  same  picture  of  gliding  trees,  and 
out  of  the  mingled  scents  which  came  to  him 
then  he  missed  not  one.  Mark  believed  in  the 
value  of  those  ten  years,  but  to-night  he  loosed 
his  hold  upon  them  and  was  again  freshly  gradu- 
ated from  college,  going  up  to  Beau  Lieu  Sum- 
mer University  to  teach  Greek.  The  fancy  pleased 
him,  although  it  changed  the  man  to  a  boy  and 
took  away  what  he  had  worked  hard  to  win ;  for 
it  gave  in  return  the  grasp  and  vision  of  youth, 
its  buoyant  faith  and  all-embracing  charity.  To 
wake  and  watch  with  these  he  found  more  re- 
freshing than  sleep. 

The  dawn  came  unexpectedly  soon — a  red  glow, 
against  which  naked  tree-trunks  stripped  by  fires 
stood  up  like  masts.  The  morning-star  shone  sil- 
verly,  and  a  little  wood-thrush  answered  in  a  note 
that  caught  its  gleam.  The  forests  grew  less 
dense  and  clearings  appeared  ;  then  came,  here 
and  there,  mean  board  houses,  from  which  issued 
slovenly  men  and  children,  who  stared  at  the  train 
with  dull,  sleepy  eyes. 

The  solitary  settlements  became  towns  with 
regular  streets  and  avenues  of  young  trees — such 
towns  as  figure  in  the  papers  as  bargains  in  real 
estate.  The  towns  in  turn  yielded  to  "resorts" 
with  pretentious  hotels  and  picturesque  cottages. 
They  were  nearing  Beau  Lieu. 

Ah,  there  it  was!  the  tiers  of  cottages  among 


the  hills — how  they  had  increased  in  number  ! — 
the  towers  of  the  college  buildings  overlooking 
the  bay,  the  big  wooden  tent  of  the  auditorium, 
the  little  railway  station,  and  the  Reverend  Will- 
iam Billings  himself,  looking  not  a  day  older  than 
when  he  told  Mark  his  services  would  not  be  re- 
quired another  year. 

"  I  owe  him  one  for  that,"  said  Mark  to  himself, 
"but  I'll  wait  until  I  can  pay  the  interest.  He 
has  a  nice  girl  with  him  —  that's  natural,  too. 
Hullo,  Zeb,  can't  you  shake  hands  with  an  old 
friend?  You've  forgotten  me." 

"Zeb"  squinted  his  small,  twinkling  eyes. 
"  No,  I  ain't,"  he  declared  ;  "  I  carried  your  bag- 
gage last  summer." 

"  That's  a  lie !"  cried  Mark.  "  I  haven't  been 
here  for  ten  years,  and  then  I  carried  my  own  bag." 

"It's  Mark  Heffron !"  exclaimed  the  discon- 
certed drayman.  "There  goes  my  job  !" 

"No,  I'll  let  you  have  it  this  time.  Can  you 
put  me  up  at  the  Beau  Lieu  House  ?" 

Zeb  shook  his  head.  "All  full  a  week  ago. 
Everything's  full.  Never  was  such  a  crowd  at 
Bu  Lu." 

Mark  smiled  at  the  familiar  name.  "So  Bu 
Lu  is  booming,  is  it  ?" 

"You  bet.  P'r'aps  Mr.  Billings  can  tell  you 
some  place.  Hi,  Mr.  Billings  !" 

The  President  of  the  Beau  Lieu  University  and 
Summer  Assembly  turned  at  the  call.  He  was 
large  and  fair,  with  unsteady,  light  eyes,  and  a 


long  gray  beard,  which  he  stroked  with  a  shapely 
hand. 

"Here's  Mr.  Mark  Heffron  come  back,"  said 
Zeb,  by  way  of  introduction.  "An'  he  hain't  got 
nowhere  to  stop  at.  I  thought  p'r'aps  you'd  know 
some  place." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Heffron,"  responded  the  president, 
touching  Mark's  hand  gingerly,  "we're  pretty 
full,  but  I  think  they  would  take  you  in  at  the 
Hubbard  cottage.  You  might  try  them,  Haskins. 
I  hear  you've  been  quite  a  traveller  since  we  last 
saw  you,  Mr.  Heffron.  If  our  lecture  list — " 

"No,  no,"  interrupted  Mark.  "I  merely  ran 
around  here  on  my  way  North  to  see  how  you  were 
getting  on.  You  have  a  large  school  this  year  ?" 

"Eighteen  hundred  and  twenty -one,"  iteplied 
the  president,  accurately.  "Nine  registered  this 
morning;  two  from  Louisville,  one  of  them  the 
young  lady  I  was  addressing.  Yes,  the  school  in- 
creases. Pleased  to  see  you  at  our  cottage. 
Good-morning." 

"Good -morning,"  rejoined  Mark,  briefly,  and 
hastened  after  Zeb,  who  had  caught  six  trunks  and 
a  brace  of  canvas  bags  in  the  interim. 

"You  wanter  make  terms  with  the  Widder 
Hubbard,"  he  counselled,  as  they  clattered  up  the 
stony  road.  "  Folks  think  because  Bu  Lu  adver- 
tises rooms  from  two  to  four  dollars  that  they're 
goin'  to  get  in  for  two.  Widder  Hubbard's  all 
right,  but  you  don't  wanter  take  things  for  granted 
and  then  kick  afterwards." 


"  Certainly  not,"  agreed  Mark.  "  Here  you  go! 
Never  raind  the  change." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Any  time,  Mr.  Heffron,  that 
you  wanter  move  or  go  away,  here's  my  card." 
Mark  received  it  quizzically.  This  bit  of  pro- 
fessional formality  was  certainly  new  to  Beau 
Lieu. 

The  Widow  Hubbard  "  took  in  "  the  stranger 
with  alacrity,  and  escorted  him  to  a  tiny  chamber 
under  the  eaves.  Mark  walked  to  the  window 
and  looked  out;  it  framed  the  splendid  azure  of 
the  bay.  "  I'll  take  it,"  he  said,  promptly  ;  then, 
remembering  Zeb's  caution,  "How  much  is  it?" 

The  widow  cleared  her  throat.  "I'd  really 
ought  to  have  four  and  a  half,"  she  said,  hesi- 
tatingly; "but  Mr.  Ilaskins  says  you  uster  be- 
long to  the  Assembly.  I'll  let  you  have  it  for 
four." 

Mark  drew  a  handful  of  silver  from  his  pocket. 
"I'll  take  it  for  a  week,"  he  said  ;  "but,"  point- 
ing to  a  thin  square  of  cotton  hanging  dejectedly 
from  a  decorated  rack,  "  I  want  plenty  of  water 
and  towels,  and  I  want  the  privilege  of  doing 
what  I  please  in  this  room." 

The  widow  stared  and  retreated.  "  Ye-es,  sir," 
she  faltered.  "  You  can  do  as  you're  mindter, 
and  I'll  send  up  the  water  and  towels." 

Soon  Master  Charlie  Hubbard  came  stumbling 
up  the  stairs,  spilling  water  all  the  way  from  a 
tin  pail  upon  two  skimpy  towels ;  but  before  he 
reached  the  attic  room  the  iconoclastic  hand  of 


G 


the  new  lodger  had  swept  together  the  gay  pict- 
ures and  gayer  paper  flowers  which  nestled  in 
every  niche,  and  had  bestowed  them  under  the 
bed,  setting  a  woollen  puppy,  bristling  with  pins, 
to  guard  them. 


II 


AT  noon  the  high,  worn  terraces  about  the  Beau 
Lieu  House  presented  the  appearance  of  a  large 
and  highly  colored  ant-hill.  Swarms  of  men, 
women,  and  children  in  bright  summer  dress 
went  in  and  out  of  the  big  white  building.  It 
was  exciting  and  more  or  less  irritating  to  press 
through  the  crowd  to  the  dining  -  room  door, 
where  the  deaf  proprietor  held  a  chain  across 
the  entrance  until  the  meal-ticket  was  safe  in  his 
hand. 

"  Like  cattle  waiting  for  the  bars  to  be  letdown," 
murmured  the  girl  whom  Mark  Heffron  called 
"  nice,"  and  who  Mr.  Billings  had  said  was  from 
Louisville.  The  elderly  woman  upon  her  arm  put 
up  a  delicate  hand  in  remonstrance. 

" It  is,"  pursued  the  girl ;  "I  feel  degraded." 

"  We  can  go  home,"  suggested  her  companion, 
meekly. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  the  girl,  quickly.  "  I  didn't 
mean  to  complain,  auntie,  but  it  makes  me  cross 
to  have  you  wait  for  the  second  or  third  table  and 
then  find  everything  '  out.'  " 

"  Don't  mind  me,"  urged  the  other,  in  the  soft, 
many-vowelled  speech  of  the  old  South.  "Really, 


8 


I  get  on  very  well;  the  waitress  is  considerate. 
Look,  Eloise,  there  is  a  chance." 

Haughtily  tossing  her  head,  Eloise  presented 
herself  before  the  chain. 

"  I  dunno,"  said  the  hotel-keeper,  vaguely ;  "  I'll 
ask  Marthy.  Marthy,  is  there  any  room  for  these 
folks  ?" 

Martha  passed  them  in  review.  "  Do  they  live 
in  the  house  ?" 

Eloise  responded  in  the  negative. 

"Then  they'll  have  to  wait;  we  have  to  'tend 
to  our  own  folks  first." 

The  warm  blood  mounted  into  the  cheeks  of 
the  girl  outside  the  chain.  "Come,"  she  ejacu- 
lated, drawing  her  aunt  from  the  door.  "Didn't 
I  say  so  ?  Cattle  !  they  herd  at  their  meals  and 
at  their  lessons.  They  have  so  much  to  say  about 
'culture';  they  don't  know  what  it  means." 

"  Eloise  !"  implored  her  companion  ;  "  those 
gentlemen  will  hear  you." 

"Gentlemen  !"  rejoined  the  girl,  scornfully,  as 
the  loud  laugh  of  one  filled  the  air.  He  was  a 
short,  clumsy  man,  with  a  bald  head  and  a  bare 
face  responding  with  many  a  line  to  his  merri- 
ment. The  young  man  beside  him  looked  annoyed. 

"  I  hear  the  Episcopalians  have  been  letting  you 
preach  in  their  house  this  summer,"  said  the  bald- 
headed  man. 

The  other  assented.  "It  hasn't  been  conse- 
crated yet,"  he  added. 

"That  explains  it,"  replied  the  elder,  with  a  de- 


9 


risive  roar.  "  I'll  bet  they  didn't  let  you  inside 
the  chancel  ?" 

"  N-no,"  answered  the  young  man  ;  "  but  the 
pulpit's  outside." 

"I  told  you  so!"  shouted  the  bald-headed  man, 
hearing  only  what  he  chose. 

It  was  auntie's  turn  to  look  disgusted,  but  be- 
fore she  could  escape  conversation  shifted  to  an- 
other theme. 

"  Did  you  hear  Dr.  Greenough  ?" 

"  No,  I  was  busy  ;  what  did  he  speak  on  ?" 

"  Church  Unity  ;  it  was  good,  too  ;  said  he'd 
sign  all  the  creeds,  but  he  wouldn't  do  away  with 
the  hedges.  Said  he'd  cut  them  low  enough  so 
that  people  could  shake  hands  over  them,  but  he'd 
keep  them  there." 

"  How  about  one  Body,  of  which  we  are  all 
members  ?"  put  in  a  new  voice. 

"  Oh,  well,  no  one  expects  that.  You  can't  find 
any  one  principle  that  they'll  unite  on." 

"How  about  the  principle  of  truth?"  suggested 
the  voice. 

"How  do  you  know  when  you've  got  the 
truth  ?  Here  are  all  these  different  denomina- 
tions claiming  they've  got  it." 

"  Truth,"  said  the  voice,  deliberately,  "  satisfies 
the  demands  of  reason." 

"That  isn't  enough,"  cried  the  bald-headed 
man.  "  You've  got  to  have  authority  and  revela- 
tion as  well  as  reason." 


10 


"So  you  accept  the  divorce  between  reason 
and  authority  ?"  asked  the  voice,  sarcastically. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  nothing  of  the  sort. 
But  look  at  your  Age  of  Reason;  what  was  it? 
Anarchy,  upheaval,  ruin  !"  The  speaker  threw 
his  hand  back  with  such  violence  that  he  knocked 
a  stray  baby  endwise.  The  baby  howled,  a  wom- 
an darted  to  the  rescue,  the  bald-headed  man  was 
profuse  in  apologies,  and  what  had  promised  to 
be  an  interesting  discussion  was  precipitately 
brought  to  a  close. 

Only  Eloise,  drawn  near  by  the  pressure  of  the 
throng,  heard  the  low  words,  "  The  Age  of  Rea- 
son was  the  Age  of  Feeling,  nothing  more;"  while 
a  feminine  voice  buzzed  behind  her,  "  He's  an  in- 
fidel, that  dark  man;  John  says  so." 

Then  a  wave  of  complacent  faces  surged  out- 
ward from  the  dining-room,  meeting  the  wave  of 
discontented  ones  which  surged  in.  Eloise  and 
her  aunt  found  themselves  under  the  protection 
of  the  "  infidel,"  whose  long  arm  was  more  than 
once  outsti'etched  in  their  behalf.  Within  the 
dining-room  they  were  not  separated,  but,  follow- 
ing Marthy  in  single  file,  were  directed  to  adjoin- 
ing seats.  Eloise  sat  beside  the  stranger,  whom 
she  regarded  curiously.  Sitting,  he  towered  above 
her;  standing,  his  eyes  had  been  almost  on  a  level 
with  her  own.  With  his  massive  head,  bulky 
torso,  and  long,  sinewy  arms,  he  should  have  been 
a  giant  in  stature.  His  face,  too,  was  a  surprise; 
the  winning  tenderness  of  his  smile  had  given 


11 


place  to  a  keen,  restless  glance  like  that  of  an  un- 
tamed animal;  his  beardless  lips,  proud  and  just 
when  he  had  spoken,  had  settled  into  lines  of  sen- 
suality and  cynicism.  Eloise  shrank  from  him 
into  the  atmosphere  of  chaperonage  which  "  aun- 
tie "  conscientiously  diffused.  If  he  noticed  this, 
he  made  no  sign.  After  obtaining  fresh  napkins 
for  the  two  women,  and  emptying  the  contents 
of  the  cream  -  pitcher  into  their  tumblers  of 
skimmed  milk,  he  fell  into  a  reverie  from  which 
his  dinner  only  partially  aroused  him. 

While  they  were  dallying  with  their  dessert  he 
left  them,  bowing  abruptly,  and  they  saw  him 
pass  the  window,  walking  rapidly  in  the  direction 
of  the  bay.  "A  peculiar  person,"  murmured 
auntie;  "but  he  was  most  attentive,  Eloise." 

Her  niece  made  no  reply.  She  was  watching 
the  stranger  pick  up  a  romping  urchin  and  swing 
him  lightly  to  a  broad  shoulder.  Another  and 
another  came  about,  all  finding  a  place  to  cling 
and  be  carried  on.  Thus,  hung  as  thick  with 
children  as  a  barbaric  maid  with  ornaments,  he 
disappeared.  Then  she  turned  to  her  aunt. 

"  He  is  the  only  interesting  person  here.  Come, 
dear,  I  must  take  you  home  and  go  and  see  to 
my  pictures." 

"  Shall  I  not  help  you  ?" 

"  Xo,  indeed.  You  are  going  to  lie  in  the  ham- 
mock until  I  come  back." 

"But—" 

"A  very  nice  Epworth  League  boy  is  to  hang 


12 


the  pictures.  Mr.  Billings  sent  him  around  this 
morning  to  see  about  it.  Good-bye.  Go  to  sleep 
-I'll  be  back  at  five." 

There  was  no  one  at  Langley  Hall  when  Eloise 
reached  it,  save  a  solitary  woman  who  rocked 
and  read  on  the  piazza;  but  the  doors  were  open, 
so  she  went  directly  to  the  large  room  in  which 
she  was  to  deliver  her  lectures  on  Dutch  and 
German  Art.  It  had  been  appropriated  already 
by  the  representatives  of  the  W.  X.  Y.  Z.  Por- 
traits of  estimable  women  prominent  in  the  associa- 
tion, wreathed  with  garlands,  filled  the  place,  to- 
gether with  banners  great  and  small,  and  mottoes 
of  startling  size  and  significance.  Eloise  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  room  and  regarded  them 
scornfully.  "If  Mr.  Billings  thinks  I  am  going 
to  rally  around  those  standards  he  is  very  much 
mistaken,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  wish  that  Ep- 
worth  League  boy  would  come." 

As  if  summoned  by  her  desire,  the  object  of  it 
appeared  in  the  doonva}^ 

"  What  did  Mr.  Billings  say  we  could  do  ?" 
inquired  Eloise,  when  he  had  brought  in  his  step- 
ladder  and  tools. 

"  He  said  we  might  do  as  we  pleased,"  returned 
the  bo3r. 

"Then,"  said  the  young  rebel,  in  the  mood 
which  fired  on  Sumter,  "  take  down  those  ban- 
ners." 

Down  they  came,  "  Mother,  Home,  and  Heaven" 
losing  three  cotton-wool  letters,  and  "  Woman's 


13 


Cause  the  World's  Cause  "  dropping  a  gilded  tas- 
sel. Eloise  wrapped  them  up  unceremoniously 
and  tossed  them  into  a  closet  under  the  hall 
stairs. 

"  We'll  put  the  Old  Flemish  Masters  up 
there,"  she  said,  gayly;  "that  lovely  Van  Eyck 
in  the  middle  and  this  dear  Quentin  Matsys 
over  there.  Here's  a  good  place  for  the  '  Christ 
Bearers.'  We'll  put  a  Van  Dyck  over  this 
woman  ;  you  needn't  take  her  down." 

"How  about  this  one  ?"  inquired  the  boy,  indi- 
cating another  with  his  hammer. 

"  Down  with  her  !"  cried  the  girl,  exultantly. 
"I  can  breathe  better  already.  Here's  '  The  Jolly 
Man'  to  hang  in  her  place." 

So  they  went  on  with  Rembrandts  and  Hob- 
bemas,  Kaulbachs  and  Pluckhorsts,  hiding  what 
they  did  not  remove,  transforming  the  stronghold 
of  the  W.  X.  Y.  Z.  into  a  throne-room  where  Art 
was  queen.  At  least,  that  was  what  Eloise 
thought ;  some  one  else  thought  differently. 
Routed  out  of  her  rocking-chair  by  the  hammer- 
ing and  the  talk,  the  woman  on  the  piazza  had 
drawn  gradually  nearer  to  the  scene  of  the  dis- 
turbance. For  full  thirty  seconds  she  stood,  hor- 
ror-struck by  what  she  saw.  Then  she  took  to 
her  heels  as  if  the  Old  Flemish  Masters  and  the 
gentle  Diisseldorf  School  had  been  so  many  emis- 
saries of  the  Pit. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Billings  ?  Has  any  one  seen 
Mr.  Billings  ?"  she  gasped,  running  against  a  large 


14 


man  who  turned  a  corner  in  time  to  present  him- 
self as  an  obstacle  to  her  flight. 

"  You'll  find  him  over  there,  rnadam,"  said  the 
obstacle,  lifting  his  hat  and  pointing  to  a  platform 
under  the  trees,  where  the  Reverend  Billings  was 
putting  up  posters.  Without  the  ceremony  of  a 
thank  you,  she  hurried  on,  and  soon  returned  fol- 
lowed by  the  President  of  the  Assembly. 

"  Might  as  well  see  what's  up,"  said  the  obsta- 
cle, falling  into  line.  "  Aha,  it's  the  Louisville 
girl." 

Unconscious  of  the  stir  which  she  had  created, 
Eloise  stepped  back  to  view  the  result  of  her  after- 
noon's work. 

"  Isn't  it  lovely?"  she  said  to  the  Ep worth  boy; 
but  the  Epworth  boy  was  looking  towards  the 
doorway,  where  stood  the  party  of  the  second 
part. 

"Ahem,  Miss  Gordon,"  began  Mr.  Billings. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  interposed  a  sonorous  voice, 
"  this  is  the  finest  collection  of  foreign  photo- 
graphs I  ever  saw.  Mr.  Billings,  you  and  Beau 
Lieu  are  to  be  congratulated." 

"It  is  a — a  private  collection,"  responded  Mr. 
Billings.  "  Miss  Gordon,  let  me  present  Mr.  Hef- 
fron,"  and  Eloise  recognized  her  companion  at 
dinner.  "  Mrs.  Harwood,  Miss  Gordon — Mr.  Hef- 
fron."  Mrs.  Harwood  bowed  distantly.  What 
were  fine  collections  compared  with  the  tremen- 
dous issues  with  which  she  and  her  companions 
dealt  ?  She  turned  her  back  on  a  cherub  compla- 


15 


cently  viewing  his  own  chubby  proportions,  and 
encountered — "Eve  Before  the  Fall!"  In  des- 
peration, she  looked  straight  at  the  President  of 
the  Assembly  and  nowhere  else. 

"  Mr.  Billings,  we  have  no  time  to  lose  if  we 
are  going  to  change  things  around  before  to- 
night," she  said,  hurriedly. 

"Yes,  yes,"  agreed  Mr.  Billings.  "Miss  Gor- 
don, at  the  reception  to-night  the  women  of  the 
W.  X.  Y.  Z.  receive  here,  and  they  are  naturally 
desirous  to  have  the  decorations  which  they  have 
put  up  partly  for  this  reception  remain  until  after 
the  event.  So  we'll  just  put  these  things  away 
until  to-morrow,  when  they  can  go  back  again." 

Just  put  these  things  away  !  Did  he  realize 
that  it  had  taken  hours  of  careful  work  to  arrange 
the  schools  of  art  by  themselves  and  to  place  to- 
gether congenial  subjects?  The  eyes  of  the  young 
lecturer  filled  with  angry  tears.  "As  you  please," 
she  said,  haughtily.  "It  is  immaterial  to  me 
whether  or  no  the  pictures  appear  at  all." 

"  Why  don't  you  put  her  over  in  '  Bible  Hall  ?' " 
asked  Mark. 

"Do  you  mean  Stacey  Hall?" 

"  We  used  to  call  it  Bible  Hall." 

Mr.  Billings  reflected.  "  We  might  do  that ; 
suppose  we  go  over  and  see,  Miss  Gordon?" 

Eloise  looked  at  her  advocate.  "  Will  you  go, 
too?"  she  asked. 

"  With  pleasure,"  Mark  replied,  and  forthwith 
assumed  charge  of  the  expedition. 


10 


In  less  than  an  hour  "  The  Night  Watch  "  and 
"  The  Jolly  Man,"  Eve  and  Eros  had  left  Lang- 
ley  Hall,  while  a  band  of  zealous  women  were 
reverently  replacing  the  cotton-wool  letters  lost 
from.  "Mother, Home,  and  Heaven,"  and  the  gilded 
tassel  which  belonged  to  "  Woman's  Cause." 

"  This  is  the  first  experience  I  ever  had  of  this 
kind,"  said  Mrs.  Ransom,  viciously  biting  her 
thread.  "  I  don't  know  what  Beau  Lieu  is  com- 
ing to." 

"It's  my  last  summer  if  things  keep  on,"  said 
Mrs.  Puffer. 

Mrs.  Harwood,  the  Chairman  of  the  Executive 
Committee  of  the  W.  X.  Y.  Z.,  said  nothing,  ex- 
cept by  mien  and  gesture,  as  she  mounted  the  step- 
ladder,  trailing  an  evergreen  wreath.  She  was 
not  given  to  words,  but  could  act  when  occasion 
demanded.  If  any  of  the  pupils  of  the  Summer 
University,  young  or  old,  attended  the  lectures  on 
Dutch  and  German  Art,  it  would  not  be  her  fault. 

"This  is  my  first  experience,"  Eloise  herself 
was  saying,  in  reply  to  Mark's  counsel  not  to  mind 
the  Philistines.  "I  have  only  talked  in  parlors 
and  to  friends." 

"  Don't  let  them  bluff  you,"  he  urged.  "  Keep 
your  head  up  and  believe  in  yourself;  then  they 
will  believe  in  you.  Where  will  you  have  this 
picture  ?" 

The  Ep worth  boy  had  gone  to  a  lecture,  but  her 
new  assistant  was  worth  a  whole  League  of  Ep- 
worth  boys,  decided  Eloise,  thankfully  watching 


17 


her  gallery  fall  into  place.  It  was  delightful  to 
have  her  treasures  handled  by  some  one  who  knew 
their  worth.  In  an  incredibly  short  time  the  last 
nail  was  driven  and  Mark  was  locking  the  door 
of  the  hall  behind  them.  "  I  am  very  grateful, 
Mr.  Heffron,"  she  said,  earnestly,  as  they  walked 
home  together  under  the  lengthening  shadows. 

"  I  expect  to  get  it  all  back  to-morrow  when 
you  lecture,"  said  Mark. 

"Are  you  coming?"  asked  the  girl,  with  a 
startled  glance. 

"  Of  course." 

"But  you  won't  like  it,"  she  demurred.  "It's 
only  the  things  you  find  in  books." 

"  You  won't  shut  me  out,  will  you  ?" 

"  Oh  no." 

"Then  I'm  coming."  And  he  came,  not  long 
after  the  doors  were  opened  and  there  was  still  a 
choice  in  seats.  She  spied  him  early  in  her  talk, 
but  by  his  friendly  smile  he  told  her  he  was  there 
to  help,  not  to  criticise. 

He  did  help,  wonderfully,  stimulating  attention 
by  his  own  evident  interest,  leading  the  applause, 
warming  and  enlivening  the  audience,  which  was 
not  small  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Harwood's  efforts — 
perhaps  because  of  them. 

As  Eloise  had  said,  there  were  "  only  the  things 
found  in  books "  in  the  lecture,  but  the  manner 
saved  the  matter  from  being  dull,  as  it  often  does  ; 
and  it  was  Mark  Heffron  who  saved  the  manner, 

so  he  congratulated  himself. 
2 


Ill 


"SUMMER,  the  man  and  the  maid;  it  is  not 
good  for  either  one  to  be  alone,"  quoth  Mark, 
hunting  under  the  bed  for  his  tennis-shoes. 

The  woollen  puppy  eyed  him  suspiciously.  "It 
is  true,  although  you  may  not  believe  it,"  said 
Mark.  "What  do  you  know  about  such  things, 

%,  o     J 

anyway  ?" 

He  ran  down  the  front  stairs,  whistling  mer- 
rily, and  the  Widow  Hubbard  crept  up  the  back 
stairs  to  mourn,  for  the  twentieth  time,  over  her 
denuded  room. 

"I've  had  a  good  many  resorters  in  my  house, 
first  and  last,"  she  muttered,  "but  I  never  had 
one  like  him."  She  lifted  the  edge  of  the  bed- 
quilt  to  look  at  the  pin-cushion  puppy  and  the 
paper  flowers,  and  let  it  fall  with  a  groan.  "  I 
told  him  he  might  do  as  he  was  a  mindter,  and 
four  dollars  ain't  bad  for  two  flights  up,"  she 
said,  by  way  of  consolation.  "  But  it's  pretty 
hard,  after  I've  took  so  much  pains  to  make  it 
pretty  and  pleasant — there  he  goes  over  to  play 
ball  with  that  girl.  Awful  independent,  ain't 
you,  swingin'  along  !" 

The  tennis-ground  was  on  a  plateau  overlook- 


19 


ing  the  bay,  the  most  inviting  spot  in  Beau  Lieu. 
The  forest  was  at  its  back,  and  two  or  three  gen- 
erous beeches  at  the  side  extended  protection 
from  the  sun  to  those  who  watched  the  games, 
always  a  fair  number,  for  the  tennis -ground 
lay  in  the  direct  route  from  the  hotels  to  the 
halls. 

There  were  more  spectators  than  usual  this 
morning,  partly  because  it  was  too  warm  to  lis- 
ten to  a  lecture  on  Sociology,  partly  because  the 
game  was  a  good  one  and  the  graceful  girl  in  the 
white  gown  was  ahead. 

"  Who  is  she  ?"  Philip  More  asked  his  friend, 
Jo  Allen. 

"Miss  Kentucky,  the  boys  call  her.  She  is 
from  Louisville.  Jack,"  nudging  a  long-haired 
youth  in  front,  "  what's  Miss  Kentucky's  real 
name?" 

"  Gordon,"  replied  the  youth,  without  turning 
his  head. 

"  Yes,  that's  it — Gordon.  She  is  lecturing  on 
something  or  other." 

"  That  can't  be  Eloise  Gordon,"  murmured 
Philip.  "Do  you  know  her  first  name?" 

"  Jack,  what  is  Miss  Gordon's  first  name  ?" 

"Eloise,"  responded  the  long-haired  youth; 
"  Good  one,  good  play !  Gee  whizz,  she's  a 
dandy  !" 

Philip  More  elbowed  his  way  through  the 
crowd  until  close  to  the  players,  who,  oblivious 
of  the  eyes  upon  them,  sent  the  light  ball  to  and 


20 


fro.  "  It  is  Eloisc  Gordon.  What  under  the 
sun  is  she  doing  here  ?" 

The  game  was  concluded  amid  the  apprecia- 
tive shouts  of  the  bystanders.  Philip  lost  no 
time  in  pressing  forward,  cap  in  hand  "  Congrat- 
ulations, Miss  Gordon!"  he  cried.  "You  have 
not  forgotten  me  ?" 

"No,  indeed,  Mr.  More,"  she  replied,  another 
flush  added  to  those  of  exercise  and  victory  al- 
ready in  her  cheeks.  "  What  are  you  doing 
here  ?" 

"  Geologizing  ;  and  you  ?" 

Eloise  grew  grave.  "  I  am  lecturing  upon  art," 
she  said,  hurriedly.  "  Mr.  Heffron,  this  is  an  old 
friend,  Mr.  More."  The  two  men  shook  hands, 
Mark  with  a  cordiality  which  Philip  did  not  en- 
tirely reciprocate,  and  the  trio  walked  to  the  cot- 
tage gate,  where  Mark  took  his  leave. 

Of  course,  Aunt  Harriet  remembered  Philip 
most  pleasantly,  and  told  him  so  with  a  confiding 
glance  up  at  him  and  a  confiding  pressure  of  his 
hand.  Really,  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  have 
this  young  man,  whose  antecedents  were  known 
to  her  and  who  was  so  deferential  in  his  manner, 
take  the  place  of  that  baffling  Mr.  Heffron,  of 
whom  they  knew  absolutely  nothing  except  what 
he  chose  to  tell,  and  who  took  their  mutual  rela- 
tions as  a  matter  of  course.  She  made  Philip  sit 
beside  her  on  the  sofa,  and  let  him  wield  her  old- 
fashioned  fan,  august  and  clumsy  as  an  eagle's 
wing,  while  Eloise  went  to  make  some  lemonade. 


21 


As  soon  as  the  door  had  closed,  Philip  seized 
his  opportunity.  "Do  tell  me,  Miss  Larrabee, 
what  it  all  means." 

"  Isn't  it  terrible  !  Isn't  it  shocking  !"  cried 
Aunt  Harriet,  flinging  out  her  helpless  little  right 
hand,  every  finger  stiff  and  straight  as  the  rays  of 
a  starfish.  "  Can  you  conceive  of  anything  more 
heart-rending  ?" 

"But  how  did  it  happen  ?"  pursued  Philip,  still 
in  the  dark. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  not  heard  ?"  in- 
quired Aunt  Harriet,  reproachfully. 

"  I  assure  you  I  know  absolutely  nothing.  How 
could  I  ?  I  went  abroad  directly  after  that  win- 
ter in  Louisville,  and  have  only  just  returned.  I 
thought  I  had  recovered." 

"  Poor  boy,"  sighed  Aunt  Harriet.  "  Eloise 
has  changed.  Mr.  More,  that  girl  is  a  won- 
der!" 

Philip  made  no  answer. 

"  Let  me  tell  you,"  said  Aunt  Harriet,  excitedly, 
"  what  she  has  done.  "When  her  father  passed 
away — is  it  possible  you  did  not  know  ?  Yes  ;  he 
passed  away  in  the  Main  Street  of  Louisville,  go- 
ing to  his  office,  right  after  breakfast,  and  a  beau- 
tiful morning.  I  never  shall  forget  how  he  came 
back  and  kissed  us  all  around.  He  was  very 
fond  of  me."  She  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes.  Philip  maintained  a  sympathetic  silence, 
and  she  soon  resumed  her  story.  "You  never 
saw  such  mourning;  the  whole  city  felt  that  it 


22 


had  sustained  a  personal  loss.  There  was  no  one 
more  thought  of  than  Max  Gordon." 

"  What  became  of  Mrs.  Gordon  ?"  asked  Philip. 

"My  sister  never  recovered  from  the  shock," 
replied  Miss  Larrabee.  "  I  am  all  that  Eloise  has 
left.  I  stand  in  place  of  father  and  mother." 

In  spite  of  himself,  Philip  looked  relieved.  lie 
sincerely  regretted,  for  Eloise's  sake,  the  loss  of 
her  parents,  but  he  could  not  fail  to  realize  that 
his  cause  might  profit  by  their  removal.  "Dear 
Miss  Larrabee,"  he  said,  softly,  taking  her  little 
nervous  hands  in  his  large  magnetic  ones,  "  it 
is  in  just  that  relation  that  I  wish  to  appeal  to 
you.  You  know  the  story  of  that  winter.  I  want 
to  try  again.  I  didn't  know  that  she  was  here. 
I  came  here  only  by  chance,  a  happy  chance,  if  it 
turns  out  as  I  hope.  Miss  Larrabee,  may  I  count 
on  your  permission,  your  assistance  ?"  And  Aunt 
Harriet,  seeing  in  the  honest  young  face  before 
her  the  promise  of  deliverance  from  vulgar  board- 
ing-houses and  still  more  vulgar  duns,  from  anx- 
iety and  economy,  and  from  that  dreadful  Mr. 
Heffron,  responded,  fervently,  "You  may,  Mr. 
More,  you  may  !" 

At  that  moment  the  door  opened,  and  Eloise 
and  Mark  appeared  in  comradish  proximity, 
Eloise  with  the  glasses,  Mark  with  the  pitcher, 
and  both  laughing  heartily  over  something  Mark 
had  said;  for  Eloise  had  found  the  sugar-bowl 
empty,  and,  slipping  out  to  replenish  it,  had  en- 
countered Mark  at  the  grocery  and  brought  him 


23 


home  with  her,  introducing  him  quietly  through 
the  back  door,  where  she  had  made  her  exit;  and 
Mark  had  been  so  helpful  and  so  droll  that  the 
lemonade-making  had  nearly  put  out  of  their 
heads  the  existence  of  the  two  in  the  parlor  set- 
tling the  fates  of  all  concerned. 

Philip  bit  his  lip  with  a  frown,  and  Aunt  Harriet 
manifested  by  a  certain  frigid  little  manner,  re- 
tained along  with  her  India  shawl  and  cameo 
brooch  from  the  luxuries  of  other  days,  that  she 
considered  the  presence  of  her  niece's  companion 
no  less  than  an  intrusion. 

Then  it  was  that  the  devil  entered  into  Mark  ; 
he  would  have  said  it  was  his  Irish  temper.  He 
dared  Miss  Larrabee  and  mocked  at  Philip  ;  he 
seated  himself  at  the  piano  and  sang  "  Green  grow 
the  rashes,  O,"  making  mischievous  eyes  at  Eloise 
as  he  declared,  in  a  rich  baritone,  "The  sweetest 
hours  I  ever  spent  were  spent  among  the  lasses, 
O;"  he  filled  the  tiny  parlor  with  dash  and  spai'kle 
and  life,  until  Philip  nestled,  red  and  angry,  on 
his  seat,  and  Aunt  Harriet  tapped  her  narrow  foot 
upon  the  wooden  floor,  while  Eloise  fluttered  like 
a  fascinated  dove  before  the  serpents  in  those 
brilliant  dark  eyes. 

She  followed  Mark  to  the  piazza  when  he  left, 
and  gave  him  her  hand  in  farewell.  He  waved 
his  again  and  again  until  he  disappeared  among 
the  trees.  His  mouth  had  settled  into  the  lines 
which  repelled  the  girl  on  the  day  of  their  first 
meeting,  but  if  she  saw  she  did  not  care.  The 


24 


strange  new  stirring  in  her  blood  was  all  she  knew 
or  wished  to  know.  She  rebelled  from  returning 
to  that  tame,  colorless  pair  sitting  on  the  sofa  in 
the  parlor.  Glancing  hastily  about  her,  she 
stepped  noiselessly  from  the  piazza  to  the  turf- 
muffled  ground  and  ran  down  to  the  shore. 

Mark  had  climbed  stormily  up  the  hill,  growling 
below  his  breath,  "  Check,  you  young  jackanapes  ! 
I'll  teach  you  not  to  cry  Gardez  to  me." 

lie  came  again  the  next  day,  and  the  next ;  he 
came  every  day,  sometimes  twice  and  even  three 
times.  Aunt  Harriet  fretted  and  Philip  fumed, 
but  they  might  as  well  have  interfered  with  wind 
or  flame  ;  they  only  hurt  themselves. 


IY 


THREE  weeks  had  passed  of  the  Beau  Lieu  Uni- 
versity and  Summer  Assembly.  It  was  very 
warm,  for  Beau  Lieu  does  not  always  adhere  to 
the  "cool,  bracing  weather"  advertised  in  the 
prospectus.  The  lake  was  a  dull,  opaque  gray, 
and  stagnant  as  a  mill-pond.  The  opposite  shore 
had  withdrawn  into  the  haze,  so  that  water,  earth, 
and  air  seemed  to  unite  in  one  vague  substance 
which  was  neither  of  the  three.  Aunt  Harriet 
lay,  exhausted,  on  the  sofa,  looking  so  worn  and 
white  that  a  pang  of  remorse  softened  the  obdu- 
rate heart  of  her  niece.  "  Pull  yourself  together, 
auntie,"  she  cried,  "and  we'll  go  around  the 
bay." 

Aunt  Harriet  brightened  visibly. 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  she  responded, 
humbly.  "  But  are  you  sure  you  want  to  go, 
Eloise  ?" 

"Of  course.  Where  is  the  air-pillow?  And 
your  vinaigrette  ?  You  had  better  take  a  light 
shawl.  Come  along." 

They  found  the  pier  filled  with  people  waiting 
for  the  boat ;  women,  babies,  and  small  children, 
the  summer  girl  and  the  summer  boy,  the  idler 


26 


with  the  novel  under  one  arm  and  a  pug-dog 
under  the  other,  the  student  recreating  the  outer 
man  while  the  inner  man  solved  a  problem.  The 
air  was  thick  and  stifling.  All  of  the  children 
and  most  of  the  women  munched  pop-corn  with  a 
desperate  earnestness  suggesting  a  charm  in  the 
dry  morsel  against  the  weariness  of  delay.  The 
hot,  buttery  smell  of  Beau  Lieu's  sole  dissipation 
met  the  fastidious  nostrils  of  the  young  Ken- 
tuckian,  and  they  quivered  disdainfully.  No  one 
cared.  No  one  on  the  pier  knew  her  or  the  bun- 
dle of  dignity  and  remonstrance  leaning  on  her 
arm.  Women  who  breathed  of  onions  as  well  as 
pop-corn  doubled  them  up  and  talked  over  them 
about  dinners  and  dressmaking  and  Mary  Jane's 
last  tooth. 

At  last  the  Paragon  came  up  slowly,  and  they 
went  aboard.  Then  came  more  crowding  and 
confusion.  Finally,  every  one  was  settled  and 
they  steamed  down  the  bay,  the  canvas  awning 
flapping  merrily  above  their  heads,  the  water  rip- 
pling coolly  against  the  sides  of  the  boat.  The 
haze  lifted  and  took  them  in.  The  beautiful 
green  water  was  all  around  them.  A  hush  fell 
upon  the  company,  broken  by  some  pious  soul 
who  felt  the  divine  peace  and  loveliness,  and  for 
whom,  piety  and  melancholy  being  synonymous, 
there  was  no  vent  save  a  lugubrious  hymn.  There 
were  a  few  feeble  attempts  on  the  part  of  the 
other  passengers  to  follow  the  tune  ;  then  the 
song  died  away.  The  women  began  again  with 


27 


dinners  and  dressmaking  and  neighborhood  tales. 
The  summer  boys  flirted  with  the  summer  girls. 
Feeble  jokes  were  cracked  and  empty  laughter 
resounded,  and  the  ubiquitous  pop-corn  boy  set  up 
his  stove  on  the  lower  deck,  whence  the  rustle  and 
snap  of  his  commodity  were  plainly  to  be  heard. 

The  boat  stopped  at  Roaring  Brook,  and  half 
a  dozen  individuals  went  ashore,  among  them 
Eloise  and  her  aunt.  They  seated  themselves 
on  a  mossy  log  and  conscientiously  watched  the 
brook  which,  in  default  of  roaring,  as  it  was 
booked  to  do,  purred  like  a  kitten  among  the 
stones.  Eloise  looked  and  felt  unutterably  bored. 
Aunt  Harriet  made  wild  attempts  to  be  entertain- 
ing, attempts  which  failed  dismally,  and  were 
followed  by  a  chilling  silence.  Eloise  waited 
for  the  last  boat,  and  was  patiently  attentive  until 
she  landed  her  companion  at  the  cottage  door. 
Two  squares  of  paper  showed  white  against  the 
green  of  an  arbor-vitne ;  one  was  Philip's  card, 
bound  to  a  branch  by  a  long  grass  blade,  the 
other  was  impaled  upon  a  twig,  and  bore  Mark 
Heffron's  scrawl. 

The  cottage  occupied  by  Eloise  and  her  aunt 
was  one  of  the  row  which  nestled,  like  dove-cotes, 
among  the  trees  on  the  shore.  There  was  a 
slender  fence  about  the  yard,  and  a  pathway  of 
painted  blocks  led  to  the  door.  Long  piazzas 
encircled  the  house,  and  a  balcony  ran  out  into 
the  shrubbery,  a  rustic  affair,  with  uneven  floors 
and  a  low  lattice  of  twisted  limbs.  On  this  bal- 


28 


cony  Eloise  sat,  while  the  sun,  like  a  great  drop 
of  glowing  wine,  dripped  down  the  murky  sky. 
She  could  see,  through  the  trees,  the  light  dresses 
of  the  women  below  her,  and  could  hear  the 
crisp  tread  of  the  men  who  accompanied  them. 
No  one  was  alone  save  herself.  She  had  snubbed 
Aunt  Harriet  into  retiring  early,  and  now  she 
wished  her  back,  if  only  to  fill  the  empty  seat 
opposite.  The  heavy  air  was  full  of  forebodings  ; 
even  the  trees  waved  tragically. 

The  footsteps  sounded  less  frequently  on  the 
pathway  and  finally  ceased.  It  was  growing  late. 
She  crept  up  to  her  chamber,  and  flung  herself, 
face  downward,  on  the  bed. 

How  long  she  lay  there  she  could  not  tell,  but 
all  at  once  she  was  wide  awake  and  listening. 
Did  some  one  call  her?  No,  there  was  not  a 
sound.  Her  heart  beat  violently. 

What  strange  power  drew  her  to  the  window, 
down  the  stairs,  into  the  warm  night  air  which 
blew  softly  towards  the  lake,  out  upon  the  rough 
floor  of  the  balcony  ? 

"Don't  be  friglitened,"  said  a  low  voice,  and 
Mark  HefFron  took  her  cold  hands  in  his.  "  How 
did  you  know  I  was  here?"  he  asked,  laughing. 
"  Don't  be  frightened,"  for  she  shook  from  head 
to  foot. 

"I  don't  know — I  awoke — I  thought  I  heard 
some  one  call  me — did  you  call  ?" 

"Not  aloud."  He  laughed  again.  "I  did  not 
expect  to  succeed  so  well.  Sit  down,  child." 


29 


Mechanically  she  obeyed  him.  He  continued 
talking  and  she  listened  without  hearing,  unaware 
of  place  or  time  or  personality  save  his,  towards 
which  great  coiling  chains,  thrown  by  some  un- 
seen force,  drew  her  ever  closer. 

She  stood  up  before  him,  panting.  He  bent 
out  of  the  shadows  to  look  upon  her  yielding 
face. 

"Go  to  bed,  child,"  he  said,  coldly.  "It  was 
too  bad  to  disturb  you." 

In  an  instant  he  had  dropped  from  the  balcony 
and  was  walking  rapidly  away.  The  girl  re- 
mained where  he  had  left  her,  feeling  the  jar, 
the  shock,  the  disappointment,  the  helplessness 
of  one  who  miscalculates  the  way  and  steps  off 
into  space. 

Gradually  came  the  consciousness  that  she  had 
been  played  upon,  befooled,  betrayed.  The  hot 
blood  surged  into  her  cheeks.  Her  head  sang 
like  a  vibrating  wire.  Blindly  she  groped  her 
way  along  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs.  Through 
the  open  door  of  Aunt  Harriet's  room  she  could 
hear  the  sleeper's  peaceful  breath.  An  impulse 
came  to  enter  and  arouse  this  woman  who  loved 
her,  and  find  some  defence,  however  feeble,  against 
the  vague  terrors  which  assailed  ;  but  she  dis- 
missed it  and  went  on  alone. 


BEFORE  Eloise  had  reached  her  own  room  a 
wind  arose,  swift  and  searching;  it  bent  the 
branches  of  the  trees  and  the  long,  reed-like  grass 
upon  the  shore ;  it  rocked  the  low  shrubs  and  rat- 
tled the  dead  leaves  of  a  transplanted  elm.  Then 
came  the  rain  and  beat  out  sweet  odors,  so  that 
the  tiny  square  about  the  cottage  grew  as  fragant 
as  a  garden.  Lightning  and  thunder  followed, 
piercing  and  purifying  the  heavy  air. 

When  morning  dawned  the  girl  who  watched 
for  it  by  the  window  uttered  a  low  cry  of  delight. 
The  dull  white  bay  had  been  smitten  into  color, 
gray-green  by  the  shore,  deepening  thi'ough  ame- 
thyst to  purple  as  it  met  the  purple  mountains. 
Every  boat-house  stood  up  straight  and  clean 
against  the  sky.  The  black  line  of  the  wharf  ac- 
centuated the  dazzle  of  the  foam. 

The  scene  increased  in  beauty  as  the  day  ad- 
vanced. The  wind  became  a  gale,  driving  be- 
fore it  the  great  white  breakers.  The  sun  came 
out  from  the  clouds,  and  intensified  the  brilliance 
of  shifting  water  and  glancing  foam.  The  figures 
of  the  men  and  women  on  the  beach  cut  the  air 
like  silhouettes.  All  the  neighborhood  were  there. 


31 


Aunt  Harriet  and  Eloise  followed,  and  later  Philip 
joined  them. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come !"  cried  Eloise, 
and  turned  to  him  almost  appealingly. 

"  Were  you  afraid  of  the  storm  ?"  He  felt  big 
and  manly  as  he  put  the  question. 

"I  am  glad  it  is  over  and  that  you  are  here," 
she  answered,  evasively. 

Philip  was  puzzled,  but  he  did  not  mean  to  let 
that  stand  in  the  way.  He  had  been  patient  and 
he  had  been  a  gentleman.  He  was  filled  with 
the  courage  of  those  who  have  nothing  to  regret. 
Equally  magnanimous  was  Aunt  Harriet's  self- 
control  ;  by  not  so  much  as  the  quiver  of  an  eye- 
lash did  she  recognize  the  change.  No  one  men- 
tioned Mark  ;  all  three  would  have  been  glad  to 
forget  him. 

Mark  would  have  been  glad  to  forget  himself. 
It  was  with  this  intention  that  he  went  the  rounds 
of  the  college  buildings,  which  were  filled  with  en- 
thusiastic crowds.  The  season  was  at  its  height, 
and  all  the  institutions,  educational  and  other- 
wise, which  had  their  headquarters  at  Beau  Lieu, 
were  in  full  swing — assemblies  and  circles  of 
every  description,  leagues  and  associations  with- 
out number,  including  the  Hay-Fever  Associa- 
tion. Mark's  spirits  began  to  rise  as  he  looked 
about  him. 

He  strolled  leisurely  along  under  the  trees. 
Every  one  else  was  in  a  hurry  ;  even  the  big  bell 
ringing  in  a  wooden  frame  on  the  campus  tipped 


33 


up  excitedly,  this  way  and  that,  as  if  it  could  not 
get  the  sound  out  half  fast  enough.  In  one  di- 
rection went  a  squad  of  college  boys,  flannel  clad 
and  lightly  shod,  making  up  their  "  conditions " 
with  as  little  discomfort  to  themselves  as  possi- 
ble ;  in  another  a  group  of  pretty  girls  with 
banjo-boxes  set  out  for  Music  Hall;  in  all  direc- 
tions, in  an  unbroken  procession,  old  and  young, 
bent  and  straight,  with  the  country  color  still  in 
their  cheeks  and  with  solemn,  sallow  faces,  dull 
and  gay  but  invariably  anxious,  went  those  over- 
Avorked  and  unappreciated  members  of  the  bod3r 
politic — the  teachers  of  the  public  schools.  They 
were  not  carrying  banjos  or  reading  the  Anab- 
asis; neither  were  they  enjoying  the  Field  and 
Forest  Club  or  the  School  of  Art ;  but  wherever 
the  knottiest  problems  were  being  discussed,  or 
the  display  of  learning  was  most  tremendous, 
there  they  were  to  be  found,  leaning  over  their 
writing  -  tablets  with  the  absorbed  attention  of 
those  who  compress  a  complete  course  of  instruc- 
tion into  four  short  weeks.  Mark  followed  them 
from  hall  to  hall,  hoping  that  their  seriousness 
might  cure  his  own. 

They  led  him  to  the  Auditorium,  where  the 
bald-headed  man  with  whom  he  had  come  into 
argumentative  contact  upon  the  day  of  his  ar- 
rival was  lecturing  upon  the  "  Contentions  of 
Peter  and  Paul."  The  great  wooden  curtains  on 
both  sides  of  the  building  were  rolled  up  as  high 
as  they  could  go.  The  open  archways  revealed 


33 


glimpses  of  the  forest  and  of  the  wind-swept  bay. 
Upon  this  peaceful  background  a  man  soon  ap- 
peared, narrow  shouldered,  angular,  clad  in  faded 
jeans,  his  slouched  hat  drawn  down  to  meet  a 
grizzled  beard,  which  flowed  from  temple  to  chin 
and  over  his  hollow  chest.  He  seated  himself 
on  a  bench  outside  the  building,  crossed  his  sharp 
knees  and  long,  limp  hands,  and  listened,  satisfac- 
tion proclaimed  in  every  line.  As  points  of  doc- 
trine came  up,  one  by  one,  to  be  dealt  with,  sum- 
marily and  according  to  orthodox  methods,  he 
expressed  a  still  keener  relish,  wagging  his  rough 
head  and  swinging  to  and  fro  the  foot  which  was 
free. 

Mark  left  the  amphitheatre  and  walked  around 
where  the  old  farmer  sat.  "  How  did  you  en- 
joy it  ?"  he  inquired,  as  applause  greeted  the  close 
of  the  address  and  the  audience  arose  to  go. 

"First  rate!  first  rate!"  was  the  answer,  de- 
livered with  an  emphasis  which  left  no  room  for 
doubt  of  its  sincerity.  "Tell  you  what," he  con- 
tinued, as  they  walked  on  together,  "  seemed  like 
old  times.  This  here,"  and  he  swung  his  hand 
comprehensively  about  him,  "  used  to  be  all  Meth- 
odist ;  now  it's  Baptist,  Congregationalist,  Pres- 
byterian, even  Gymnastic."  His  voice  was  vi- 
brant with  contempt. 

Mark's  eyes  twinkled.  "  You  don't  say  so  !" 
he  rejoined,  sympathetically. 

"  Yes,  sir"  continued  the  old  man.  "  There's 
a  woman  down  there,  in  that  buildin'  yonder, 


34 


who  says  that  Gymnastic  is  her  religion,  an' 
she's  got  all  the  gals  in  the  neighborhood  a-bal- 
ancin'  on  one  toe  an'  flingin'  up  their  arms  an' 
the  Lord  knows  what  all.  Might  do  for  the 
dancin'  dervishes,  but  it  ain't  my  religion." 

"  How  did  you  learn  of  these — " 

"  These  goin's-on  ?" 

Mark  assented  with  a  nod. 

"My  gal  Cynthy's  one  on  'em,  an'  she's  had 
so  much  to  say  about  this  new  life — you'd  a 
thought  she'd  been  to  a  revival — that  I  went  and 
peeked  in  the  winder.  There  was  a  hull  room 
full  on  'era,  my  Cynthy  among  the  rest,  goin' 
through  the  durndest  pufformances,  a-swingin' 
their  arms  an'  a-tip-toin'  back'ards  an'  for'ards.  I 
told  Cynthy  she'd  got  to  quit,  but,  Land,  she's  so 
obstinate  !  Her  mother  right  over  !" 

"  Is  her  mother  alive  ?" 

"  You  bet  she  is,  an'  backs  up  the  gal ;  says  it's 
what's  goin'  on  all  over  everywhere,  only  I  ain't 
heard  about  it.  You  just  come  along  with  me 
an'  I'll  show  ye.  You  wouldn't  s'pose  sech  things 
would  be  tolerated." 

He  led  the  way,  and  Mark  followed,  filled  with 
curiosity.  The  cottage  was  the  smallest  of  the 
college  buildings,  and  hidden  from  the  pathway 
by  a  wall  of  dense  cedars.  Between  this  wall 
and  the  cottage  the  old  man  began  to  wriggle 
his  way.  Mark  caught  him  by  the  arm.  "Hold 
on  there  ;  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  he  de- 
manded. 


35 


"Show  you  where  you  can  peek  in." 

"Not  much;  you  don't  catch  me,"  replied 
Mai'k,  sternly. 

"  They  won't  ketch  ye,"  returned  the  veteran 
Paul  Pry,  mistaking  his  meaning.  "  It's  dark  as 
a  pocket  behind  them  cedars." 

"Don't  care  if  it  is.  They  are  coming  now  ; 
you  had  better  get  away  from  there."  The  pat- 
ter of  feet  and  the  hum  of  voices  confirmed  his 
words.  Presently  forty  or  fifty  women  and  girls 
trouped  out  of  the  cottage,  putting  into  applica- 
tion the  instruction  they  had  received,  chins  up, 
chests  out,  backs  and  legs  stiff  and  straight. 

Mark  and  the  old  farmer  stepped  aside  to  let 
them  pass. 

"  The  backbone  is  a  spiral ;  you  must  pull  it 
up  like  this  !"  cried  a  plump,  brown-eyed  girl, 
elongating  her  chubby  person. 

"  That's  the  '  military  line,' "  called  another  girl 
out  of  the  crowd  in  the  rear.  "That  isn't  the 
'artistic  life-line.'  The  'artistic  life-line'  goes 
like  this."  She  ran  forward  to  illustrate.  The 
old  farmer  slunk  into  the  bushes. 

"  Cynthy,  no  doubt,"  decided  Mark.  "  But  who 
is  this?" 

Between  two  tall  young  girls,  like  a  queen 
between  gendarmes,  advanced  a  small,  grace- 
ful woman,  exquisitely  dressed,  a  drawing-room 
flower.  What  was  she  doing  at  Beau  Lieu? 
To  his  surprise  she  came  towards  him  with  a  smile 
of  recognition,  her  hand  outstretched  in  greeting. 


36 


"I  am  so  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Heffron,"  she 
said,  in  tones  as  perfect  as  her  figure  and  poise. 
"  You  do  not  remember  me — Marguerite  Duvray  ? 
It  is  not  strange  ;  I  should  not  have  known  you 
— Mr.  Billings  pointed  you  out  to  me." 

Mark  vowed  he  was  charmed  and  delighted ;  it 
was  a  fortunate  chance  which  brought  him  to 
Beau  Lieu — threshing,  meanwhile,  his  chaff  of 
memories  for  one  grain  of  recollection.  Who  the 
deuce  is — was — Marguerite  Duvray  ? 

The  gendarmes  fell  behind,  and  he  walked  on 
with  the  fascinating  stranger,  artf ully  leading  her 
to  speak  of  herself,  trying  to  find  her  in  Boston, 
New  York,  Philadelphia  —  even  in  London  and 
Paris. 

She  brought  him  back  to  Beau  Lieu  with  a 
bird-like  nod  of  her  pretty  head.  "Here  is  my 
cottage.  I  am  at  home,  usually,  in  the  afternoon 
at  foia\  Au  revoirf" 

No  sooner  had  she  left  him  than  Mark  took  a 
bee-line  for  the  Billings  Cottage.  "  If  old  Bill- 
ings can  straighten  this  thing  out  for  me,  he  has 
got  to  do  it,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Mrs.  Billings  was  on  the  piazza,  rocking  delib- 
erately to  and  fro;  her  idle  hands  were  folded  in 
her  lap,  her  attitude  was  that  of  one  who  has  no 
interest  in  anything.  She  looked  up  languidly 
as  Mark  mounted  the  steps  and  gave  him  a  fee- 
ble good-morning.  No;  Mr.  Billings  was  not  at 
home,  and  she  did  not  know  where  he  was.  There 
were  people  after  him  all  the  time. 


37 


"  Mr.  Billings  is  a  very  busy  man,  I  suppose," 
vouchsafed  Mark,  seating  himself  on  one  of  the 
splint-bottomed  chairs  which  adorned  the  piazza. 

"Busy!"  cried  Mrs.  Billings,  with  more  warmth 
than  she  had  shown;  "  he's  killing  himself  just  as 
fast  as  he  can  !" 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  as  bad  as  that,"  returned  the 
visitor.  "  He  looks  pretty  well  nourished." 

"Oh,  he  eats  well,"  granted  his  pessimistic 
spouse,  "and  he  sleeps  pretty  well;  but  I  don't 
see  anything  of  him  from  morning  till  night." 

"  Oho  !"  thought  Mark,  "  that's  where  the  shoe 
pinches.  You  have  some  good  teachers,"  he  con- 
tinued aloud,  in  a  wily  endeavor  to  lead  her 
around  to  the  subject  in  which  he  was  interested. 

"  That  don't  do  me  any  good,"  she  responded, 
dismally.  "I  never  go  anywhere.  Mr.  Billings 
is  always  too  busy  to  take  me,  and  there  is  no 
pleasure  in  going  alone." 

"  There  seem  to  be  more  women  than  there 
used  to  be,"  pursued  the  investigator. 

"Altogether  too  many,"  said  Mrs.  Billings, 
shortly.  "They  are  fussing  all  the  time  about 
something;  they  don't  give  Mr.  Billings  a  min- 
ute's peace.  There  are  a  lot  more  trying  to  get 
in;  a  woman  with  three  daughters  who  has  taken 
the  Hunt  Cottage  wants  to  teach  china-painting, 
and  her  daughters  want  to  read  and  pose.  They 
are  kind  of  pretty,  but  they  know  it  too  well." 

"  Who  is  teaching  Elocution  ?"  inquired  Mark, 
bearing  around  on  another  tack. 


38 


"Milton  Jones,  that  man  with  the  long  nose. 
He  don't  call  it  Elocution  ;  he  calls  it  Oratory  and 
Expression.  A  lot  of  ministers  are  taking  of  him. 
Mademoiselle  Duvray  has  some  scholars  in  what 
she  calls  Voice  Posing,  whatever  that  may  be." 

At  last ! 

"  Who  is  Mademoiselle  Duvray,"  he  inquired, 
carelessly. 

"  That  little  woman  with  sort  of  reddish  hair, 
that  steps  around  so  spry;  there's  lots  of  get-up 
to  her.  They  say  she's  been  all  over  the  world 
picking  up  ideas  for  these  gymnastics ;  they  ain't 
gymnastics  quite,  either,  though  they  go  through 
a  lot  of  motions." 

"  Delsarte  ?"  suggested  Mark. 

"She  don't  like  to  have  it  called  that,  either; 
it's  a  system  of  her  own  ;  the  women  are  crazy 
over  it.  I  must  say  they  do  improve  after  she 
gets  hold  of  them;  they  get  so's  they  stand  up 
and  act  as  if  they  were  somebody." 

"Where  does  Mademoiselle  Duvray  come 
from?"  pursued  Mark. 

"I  don't  know,"  was  the  disappointing  reply. 
"She's  new  to  me;  I  never  heard  of  her  before 
that  I  know  of.  Queer  Mr.  Billings  don't  come. 
It's  most  dinner-time." 

"I  won't  wait  for  him,"  said  Mark,  rising  at 
the  hint  so  delicately  conveyed.  "  I  did  not  have 
any  particular  business.  He  asked  me  to  call." 

"  You  needn't  hurry,"  said  Mrs.  Billings,  adopt- 
ing the  formula  of  hospitality.  "  Come  again." 


VI 


So  Mark  left  the  Billings  Cottage  no  wiser  than 

o  o 

he  carae,  and  subsequent  efforts  during  the  day 
failed  to  bring  the  information  which  he  sought. 
But,  as  he  was  falling  off  to  sleep  at  night,  a  wan 
little  face  framing  two  great  eager  eyes  appeared 
before  him.  Marguerite  Duvray,  of  course;  the 
young  French  girl  who  studied  Greek  with  him 
ten  years  ago,  and  upon  whom  he  used  to  try  his 
theories  !  The  big,  loutish  boys  who  made  up  the 
remainder  of  the  class  had  been  after  Greek, 
enough  Greek  to  enable  them  to  pass  their  ex- 
aminations; she  had  been  after  ideas.  But  what 
particular  hypothesis  had  she  laid  hold  of  and 
carried  away  to  be  an  "  inspiration,"  and  all  the 
rest  of  it  ?  He  had  been  full  of  theories  in  those 
days,  and  as  plausible  in  the  explication  of  each 
one  as  if  he  never  expected  to  have  another. 
"Yes,  that  is  Marguerite,"  said  Mark.  "Now, 
what  in  the  name  of  Aristotle  did  I  say  to  her  ?" 
Punctually  at  four  on  the  following  afternoon 
he  presented  himself  at  Mademoiselle  Duvray's 
cottage,  armed  with  a  bunch  of  scarlet  poppies 
and  the  Daily  Resorter.  She  received  them  with 
an  air  of  embarrassment;  they  were  so  foreign  to 


40 


her  idea  of  him  that  they  put  completely  out  of 
her  head  the  questions  she  had  meant  to  ask. 

"  There  seems  nothing  else  indigenous  to  the 
soil,"  he  said,  by  way  of  apology.  "  Considerable 
'local  color'  about  these." 

He  fitted  himself  into  a  willow  chair,  which 
bent  beneath  him,  and  continued,  banteringly,  "  If 
ever  there  was  an  educational  orgie  it  is  this  As- 
sembly. There  isn't  an  ology  or  an  ism  under 
the  sun  which  cannot  be  found  here  on  tap,  and 
you  can  carouse  in  any  one  of  them  for  two  dol- 
lars and  a  half.  No  wonder  inebriety  is  univer- 
sal when  it  comes  so  cheap.  Do  you  know  the 
learned  individual  who  teaches  Literature  ?" 

"Only  by  sight." 

"  I  have  been  to  hear  her  exposition  of  Romeo. 
'Shakespeare  wrote  everything  with  an  ethical 
purpose.  If  Romeo  had  gone  to  Papa  Capulet, 
like  a  little  man,  and  asked  for  Juliet,  he  would 
have  saved  himself  and  her  lots  of  trouble.  The 
prince  would  have  become  his  backer.'  " 

"  You  are  testing  my  credulity,"  cried  Margue- 
rite, "  the  lecturer  never  said  such  things." 

"Words  to  that  effect.  I  stood  up  to  make 
a  few  remarks,  but  when  I  looked  around  on  the 
audience  I  hadn't  the  heart.  They  liked  their 
kind  of  a  Romeo  so  much  better  than  they  would 
mine." 

"  Mr.  Billings  says  the  object  of  the  school  is 
not  so  much  information  as  stimulation,"  she  re- 
turned, laughing,  in  spite  of  herself. 


41 


"  I  know  what  Mr.  Billings  thinks  of  the  school," 
said  Mark  significantly,  "  and  I  know  what  Mrs. 
Billings  thinks.  She  is  only  waiting  for  the  Rev- 
erend William  to  go  to  pieces,  and  if  there  is  any- 
thing in  telepathy  she'll  fetch  him." 

Marguerite  laughed  again,  a  little  uneasily  this 
time.  "  The  scientific  department  is  well  repre- 
sented," she  said,  tentatively. 

"  The  representation  is  unlimited,"  he  replied. 
"Billings  must  have  gone  out  with  a  drag-net 
and  brought  in  everything  he  could  find.  Tell 
me,  how  did  you  happen  to  come  ?"  Again  that 
insincere  tone  which  hurt  her  like  an  ache. 

"It  was  a  whim,  an  impulse,"  she  said,  hastily, 
feeling  naked  and  exposed  before  his  curious  gaze. 
Not  for  worlds  could  she  confide  to  him  her  de- 
sire to  help  others  as  she  had  herself  been  helped 
at  this  school  of  Beau  Lieu,  nor  could  he,  in  his 
hope  of  her  favor,  confess  that  he  had  forgotten 
what  he  said  to  her  ten  years  ago. 

"  What  was  I  studying  then  ?"  he  asked  him- 
self, as,  after  an  hour  of  aimless  talk,  he  left  the 
cottage  and  walked  into  the  woods  alone.  "  What 
did  I  believe,  or  think  that  I  believed  or  pretended 
that  I  believed  ?"  He  tried  to  revive  the  rnood 
of  that  time  by  calling  up  its  images  and  associa- 
tions, and  setting  himself  in  their  midst.  "  There 
was  something  on  the  train  that  night  coming 
here  ;  what  was  it  ?"  he  asked.  But  the  thoughts 
of  that  night  had  faded  like  other  formless  shades, 
like  the  thoughts  of  ten  years  ago.  "  Go  on  and 


42 


be — eternally  blessed  !"  be  cried,  when  they  ig- 
nored his  urgent  invitation  to  reappear.  "  I  don't 
care.  There  are  plenty  more  of  you.  But  I 
should  like  to  see  my  invention  if  I  have  lost  the 
patent ;  it  makes  a  woman  charming.  Here  is 
one  of  those  circles  fate  draws  so  prettily,  bring- 
ing a  man  back  to  beg  for  what  he  threw  away. 
Does  Marguerite  realize  that  I  threw  it  away,  and 
that  I  am  trying  to  find  it  again  ?" 

Marguerite  realized  very  little  just  then  but 
her  own  bewilderment.  After  supper,  as  was  her 
charitable  wont,  she  met  the  waitresses,  Susan 
Gray  and  a  company  of  maidens  from  Cologne 
College,  on  hand  for  intellectual  crumbs  from  the 
Beau  Lieu  tables.  They  were  all  thin,  pale,  and 
self-abnegatory  ;  Mark  had  dubbed  them  Saint 
Ursula  and  the  Eleven  Thousand  Virgins.  This 
and  every  other  mocking  thing  which  he  had 
said  came  between  the  teacher  and  her  pupils  as 
they  stood  up  before  her,  looking  gaunt  and  grim 
in  the  lamplight. 

The  girls  felt  the  difference  between  this  lesson 
and  the  last.  "  She's  getting  tired,"  explained 
Susan  on  the  way  home.  "Every  one  gets  tired 
here,  though  it  did  seem  as  if  nothing  could  use 
her  up." 

That  was  what  all  her  friends  said,  "  Mademoi- 
selle Duvray  is  getting  tired." 

"  I'm  not  anything  of  the  sort,"  she  exclaimed, 
when  her  cousin  and  companion,  Mrs.  Burnham, 
took  up  the  common  cry. 


43 


A  few  minutes  later  she  asked  abruptly,  "Fan- 
nie, what  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Heffron  ?" 

Mrs.  Burnham  deliberated.  "  He  is  extremely 
clever,"  she  said.  "But  he  makes  me  feel  as  if 
my  gown  did  not  fit,  and  that  is  a  very  bad  sign 
in  a  man." 

The  nineteenth  session  of  the  Beau  Lieu  Uni- 
versity and  Summer  Assembly  was  drawing  to  a 
close.  The  various  leagues  and  circles  had  each 
had  their  "  day."  There  had  been  parades  and 
processions,  a  brass-band  had  been  up  from  Will- 
itonquit,  and  there  had  been  excursions  from  all 
over  the  state.  People  were  beginning  to  leave. 
Zeb  Hastings  was  to  be  met  at  any  hour  of  the 
day  or  night  looking  for  baggage.  He  invari- 
ably presented  Mark  a  card,  which  Mark  invari- 
ably received. 

At  last,  one  morning,  an  avalanche  of  wagons 
went  past  the  Hubbard  Cottage,  and  a  torrent  of 
pedestrians  followed.  As  Mark  climbed  the  tei-- 
race  he  met  Susan  Gray  and  her  company  coming 
down.  "It's  all  over,"  she  called,  cheerily.  "Most 
everybody's  getting  out  to-day." 

"  Have  you  had  a  profitable  summer?"  inquired 
Mark. 

"  Tolerably  so  :  but  that  isn't  what  we  came 
for,"  returned  Susan,  virtuously.  "  We  came  to 
learn  something,  and  there  can't  anybody  come 
to  Beau  Lieu  without  learning  something."  Hav- 
ing voiced  the  sentiment  of  the  place,  Susan  and 
her  maidens  swept  down  the  hill  to  the  station. 


44 


A  clatter  of  chairs  and  a  cloud  of  dust  greeted 
Mark  at  the  cottage  where  Marguerite  Duvray 
had  surrounded  herself  with  an  atmosphere  of 
tranquillity. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  woman  who  wielded  the 
broom,  "  Miss  Duvray  and  her  folks  left  last 
night — they  went  sudden  at  the  last.  No,  sir,  they 
didn't  leave  no  word,"  and  she  resumed  her  sweep- 
ing- 
Surprised  and  chagrined,  he  turned  and  walked 
away.  Marguerite  had  told  him,  the  day  before, 
that  she  meant  to  remain  another  month,  and  she 
had  seemed  to  encourage  his  own  idea  of  remain- 
ing also.  He  went  to  the  post-office  for  a  possi- 
ble note  of  explanation  ;  there  was  nothing  there, 
except  a  growl  from  New  York  asking  what 
he  was  doing  and  when  he  would  be  through. 
"  Through  to-night ;  leave  at  ten,"  he  telegraphed, 
then  returned  to  the  Hubbard  Cottage,  packed 
his  trunk  and  paid  his  bill. 

There  were  still  several  hours  before  train-time. 
He  set  out  to  walk  them  off,  taking  the  path  along 
the  shore.  It  was  quite  deserted. 

The  sun  went  down  in  rose  and  the  moon  came 
up  in  amber.  The  bay  was  full  of  light.  Slowly 
it  faded,  and  clouds  covered  the  sky. 

Hurriedly  he  retraced  his  steps,  but  the  rain  was 
upon  him,  big,  pelting  drops,  which  ceased  as  soon 
as  he  had  reached  a  sheltering  tree.  The  moon 
came  out  again,  brighter  than  before,  and  showed 
him  where  he  was.  On  that  bench  by  the  shore 


45 


he  had  often  sat ;  the  gate  of  that  slender  fence 
had  often  clicked  for  him;  up  that  pathway  of 
painted  blocks  he  had  walked  many  a  time. 
There  were  pools  of  water  between  the  blocks 
and  in  the  hollows  of  the  uneven  floor  of  the  rus- 
tic balcony,  to  which  he  climbed  as  once  before. 

The  moon  streaked  with  silver  the  crooked  lat- 
tice, and  placed  a  small  bright  image  of  herself  in 
the  broadest  pool.  Drawn  by  this  ignis  fatuus, 
a  white  moth  darted  down  and  plunged  into  the 
cold  water,  fluttering  piteously.  Mark  lifted  the 
tiny  creature  out  and  watched  it  fly  away. 


VII 

THE  pastor  of  the  First  Church  of  Wesley,  in 
the  State  of  Kansas,  sat  in  his  study  with  a  new 
text  before  him.  Suddenly  the  door-bell  was 
pulled  with  a  vehemence  which  sent  its  tinkling 
peal  reverberating  long  through  the  house.  Who- 
ever was  there  had  forgotten  or  did  not  know 
how  easily  it  responded  to  the  lightest  touch. 

The  Reverend  Jerome  Crosby  pushed  back  his 
chair  from  the  study-table  and  himself  answered 
the  summons,  expecting  to  find  a  stranger.  Lu- 
cretia  Harwood  stood  on  the  door-step,  her  round 
face  alight  with  the  importance  of  her  errand. 

"How  do  you  do?  Come  in,  come  in!"  cried 
the  reverend  gentleman  with  extraordinary  civil- 
ity, considering  how  deep  he  had  been  in  his  ser- 
monizing. 

Lucretia  hurried  him  through  the  hall  to  his 
study,  beginning  before  she  had  seated  herself, 
"  Mr.  Crosby,  I  shall  die  if  I  don't  go  to  the 
World's  Fair.  I  must  go,  I  shall  go,  and  that's 
all  there  is  to  it." 

She  extricated  herself  from  the  conditional 
mood  and  from  her  bonnet  strings  in  the  same 
breath,  and  continued  :  "  I've  thought  about  it 


47 


day  and  night,  and  there's  no  use  talking.  I  can't 
pay  my  own  expenses,  but  I  can  work,  and  I'm  not 
afraid  to.  They  want  matrons  in  all  the  State 
Buildings,  and  I'm  going  to  apply  for  the  position 
in  our  own." 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  any  influential  per- 
son from  Kansas  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Crosby,  becom- 
ing interested. 

"  Only  yourself,"  replied  Lucretia,  artlessly, 
"  and  that's  what  I'm  here  for.  I  want  you  to 
write  a  letter  to  the  authorities,  saying  I'm  honest 
and  capable,  and  I'll  take  it  up  to  Chicago  my- 
self." 

"What'if  the  position  is  already  filled?"  he 
asked. 

"  Then  I'll  do  something  else,"  she  replied, 
firmly.  "  There  ought  to  be  enough  for  a  sensi- 
ble, able-bodied  woman  to  do.  I'm  going  to  see 
that  Fair  if  it  is  the  last  thing  I  do.  You  can't 
imagine  what  those  buildings  are  to  me.  I  know 
them  as  if  I'd  built  them,  I've  watched  them  so 
close  in  the  newspapers.  You  ought  to  see  my 
scrap-book." 

"  I  should  like  to,  very  much,"  said  Mr.  Crosby, 
politely. 

Lucretia  had  started  to  her  feet  in  her  excite- 
ment and  tied  her  bonnet  strings,  but  remember- 
ing the  incompleteness  of  her  mission  she  untied 
them  and  sat  down  again. 

"  Where  do  you  propose  to  stop  in  Chicago  ?" 
inquired  Mr.  Crosby.  "  You  know  it  is  a  pretty 


48 


big  city,  and  not  any  too  honest."  He  shook  his 
head  dubiously,  as  if  a  vision  of  the  modern 
Babel  rose  before  him. 

"  That's  all  settled,"  returned  Lucretia  prompt- 
ly. "  Daniel  has  a  cousin's  wife  coming  on  to 
Chicago  from  the  East  to  take  in  the  World's 
Fair  people.  Of  course  now  in  March  and  April 
she  won't  be  full,  and  I  can  get  a  room  reasonable 
for  a  few  days.  I've  written  to  her,  and  she's 
sent  back  word  to  come  on." 

"And  what  you  want  of  me  is  a  letter."  He 
drew  towards  him  a  large  sheet  of  paper,  and 
seized  the  quill  pen,  which  he  used  for  senti- 
mental reasons,  standing  it  on  its  point  and  caus- 
ing it  to  splutter  as  it  moved  across  the  page. 

Lucretia  watched  him  narrowly  while  he  cov- 
ered one  side  and  began  on  the  other.  "  I  don't 
believe  they'll  read  all  that,"  she  interposed. 

"  Just  as  well  to  have  it,"  replied  the  minister, 
shortly,  determined  that  his  first  and  perhaps 
only  communication  to  the  officials  of  the  Great 
Exhibit  should  not  be  scrimped.  He  carefully 
read  over  the  composition,  punctuated,  folded  it, 
and  placed  it  in  a  large  envelope,  where  it  assumed 
the  proportions  of  a  public  document. 

Lucretia  received  it  with  a  sigh  which  might 
indicate  gratitude  or  concern,  and  moved  to- 
wards the  door,  followed  by  her  dignified  sponsor. 
"  Will  Daniel  go  too  ?"  he  asked. 

"  He  wants  to  ;  I  don't  know  whether  to  let 
him  or  not." 


49 


"  You  had  better.  Chicago  is  no  kind  of  a 
place  for  a  woman  to  go  around  alone  in." 

"I'll  see  about  it,"  she  deliberated.  "Good-bye, 
and  I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
Mr.  Crosby  !" 

"  Good-bye,  Lucretia  ;  God  bless  you  !" 

For  once  Daniel  Harwood  manifested  a  dogged 
determination  to  "  see  about "  his  own  case,  and 
feminine  enterprise  embarked  under  masculine 
auspices.  It  was  Daniel  who  bought  the  tickets 
and  Daniel  who  looked  up  accommodations ; 
when  the  train  from  Kansas  drew  under  the 
smoky  arches  of  the  Chicago  station  and  the  pas- 
sengers surged  out  upon  the  platform,  the  hope- 
ful candidate  for  a  position  in  the  Kansas 
Building  hung,  with  womanly  reliance,  on  the 
arm  of  a  big  brown  figure  unmistakably  Dan- 
iel's. 

It  was  the  last  of  March,  but  very  cold.  Win- 
ter lingered  in  the  steely  depths  of  the  lake  and 
in  the  shadow  of  the  bleak,  high  buildings.  "I 
shall  freeze  to  death,"  chattered  Lucretia,  Avith- 
drawing  into  her  cloak  and  slipping  her  stiff  fin- 
gers up  her  sleeves. 

"  It  is  quite  a  change,"  assented  Daniel,  rub- 
bing his  nose. 

The  wind  followed  them,  caught  at  Lucretia's 
skirts  and  the  tails  of  Daniel's  coat,  drove  them, 
choking  and  blinded  with  dust,  to  the  corner,  and 
there  beat  upon  them  with  the  malice  of  a  fiend, 
while  thev  waited  for  a  south-bound  car. 


50 


"  Want  to  find  some  place  ?"  queried  a  police- 
man built  on  the  scale  of  the  Auditorium. 

"  We're  going  to  Jackson  Park,"  said  Daniel 
importantly. 

"  The  other  corner,"  directed  the  policeman, 
pointing  thither.  "  Cars  don't  stop  here.  There's 
a  car  now.  Tell  them  to  let  you  off  at  Fifty- 
ninth  Street." 

A  cable  car  came  thundering  towards  them. 
In  his  great  open  cage,  the  gripman,  fur- clad, 
leaned  on  his  brake  like  the  conventional  stuffed 
bear  on  his  pole. 

The  pilgrims  scrambled  aboard  the  rear  car 
and  stood  clinging  to  the  straps  ;  for  Easter  was 
near,  and  shopping  women  overflowed  the  seats. 
Every  jar  threw  them  against  one  another  and 
into  the  laps  of  their  neighbors,  but  they  held  on 
bravely,  peering  out  of  the  windows  for  glimpses 
of  the  city,  and  hailing  signs  of  the  approaching 
drama  to  be  enacted  at  Jackson  Park  ;  swaying 
columns  and  mouldings  bearing  on  perishable 
staff  the  imperishable  lines  of  Corinth  and  Ionia, 
straggling  groups  of  men  and  women  from  the 
Midway  Plaisance,  in  gay  tunics  and  picturesque 
hats,  striding  along  with  the  unencumbered  gait 
lost  to  civilization. 

"They  can't  hold  'em  in,"  commented  a  scrub- 
by-looking individual,  pointing  with  his  thumb  at 
the  .strays,  "  Wild  as  a  pack  o'  deei*.  'Fraid  as 
death  of  the  cable,  so  they  hoof  it  down  and  back. 
Be'n  out  to  see  the  Esquimaux  ?"  he  inquired  of 


Daniel,  who  shook  his  head.  "  Great  sport ;  but 
it's  all  rot,  their  lyin'  down  on  the  ice,  and  that 
sort  of  thing.  Told  me  they  never  suffered  so 
much  from  the  cold  in  their  lives  as  they  do  here, 
the  air  is  so  damp.  They'll  get  it  hot  enough 
this  summer,"  and  he  grinned  at  the  thought.  "  I 
heard  they  was  goin'  on  a  strike  to  leave  off  their 
furs.  The  manager  won't  hear  to  it ;  says  that's 
what  makes  them  interesting.  Be'n  out  to  the 
grounds,  ma'am  ?"  he  inquired  of  Lucretia,  who 
backed  away  from  his  easy  familiarity,  murmur- 
ing an  unintelligible  response.  In  her  retreat 
she  felt  herself  caught  and  held  by  a  pair  of  deep 
black  eyes.  They  belonged  to  a  large,  handsome 
man  who  stood  near,  twisting  a  pair  of  gray  mus- 
taches, thrusting  out  his  full  red  lips  and  turning 
his  head  restlessly  to  and  fro.  Lucretia  noted 
with  awe  the  curious  gold  medal  suspended  from 
a  brooch  under  his  chin.  The  studies  of  the  past 
year  told  her  it  was  an  "  order,"  and  that  he  was 
one  for  whom  his  own  work  had  gained  distinc- 
tion in  science  or  art.  So  absorbed  was  she  in 
watching  him,  as  he  wrote  in  his  note-book  and 
scowled  and  whispered  to  himself,  that  Fifty- 
ninth  Street  faded  utterly  from  her  mind,  and  it 
was  Daniel  who  bestirred  himself  and  stopped 
the  car. 

Some  time  elapsed  before  they  could  cross  the 
street,  debarred  as  they  were  by  a  procession  of 
huge  drays,  bristling  with  chair  and  table  legs  or 
piled  high  with  mattresses,  destined  for  the  hotels 


52 


which  had  sprung  up,  like  mushrooms,  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  the  park. 

Suddenly  Lucretia  revived  and  looked  about 
her.  "This  ain't  Fifty-ninth  Street!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "We'll  have  to  walk  back.  Come  on, 
Daniel !" 

She  plunged  into  the  crowd.  Daniel  followed 
leisurely.  He  will  never  forget  that  hurrying 
figure,  how  it  appeared  and  disappeared,  how  it 
led  him  to  the  corner,  made  a  mad  rush  before 
a  car,  gesticulating  wildly,  then  suddenly  went 
down  out  of  sight.  Two  men  had  jumped  from 
the  car  and  helped  her  to  her  feet  when  he  reached 
the  spot.  They  were  wiping  the  dirt  from  her 
face  and  examining  her  with  professional  solici- 
tude. 

"For  pity's  sake!"  she  ejaculated;  and  then, 
"  My  soul  alive  !" 

"A  fracture  here,"  said  the  elder  of  the  two 
doctors,  touching  her  right  wrist,  from  which  the 
hand  drooped  dismally.  "A  Colles  fracture — see  ? 
She's  all  right  except  that."  His  companion  nod- 
ded. "  Get  a  splint  as  quick  as  you  can,"  ordered 
the  elder.  "  Go  into  that  drug-store  over  there 
and  ask  for  a  piece  of  board  a  foot  and  a  half 
long.  I'll  bring  her  right  over.  Now,  if  you 
will  take  my  arm,  madam.  Do  you  feel  able  to 
walk?" 

"  Oh,  my,  yes,"  replied  Lucretia,  but  came  to  a 
sudden  halt.  "  There's  something  the  matter 
with  my — limb,"  she  said,  apologetically. 


53 


"Let  me  see,"  said  the  surgeon  gently;  "take 
a  swallow  of  this,"  and  he  pulled  a  tiny  flask  from 
his  pocket. 

With  indescribable  dignity  she  drew  herself  up 
before  him.  "Sir,"  she  said,  stonily,  "you  are 
addressing  the  President  of  the  Wesley  Branch 
of  the  W.  C.  T.  U." 

There  was  a  heterodox  smile  in  the  surgeon's 
eyes  as  he  begged  her  pardon  and  returned  the 
flask  to  his  pocket,  but  Lucretia  did  not  see  it. 
She  allowed  him  to  assist  her  to  the  curbstone, 
and  submitted  to  an  examination  of  the  injured 
member.  By  this  time  the  younger  man  had  re- 
turned, accompanied  by  a  tall,  graceful  girl,  whom 
he  introduced  as  "  My  cousin,  Miss  Gordon;"  add- 
ing, "the  drug-store  is  in  Miss  Gordon's  hotel, 
the  Lake  View.  I  don't  mean  that  she  owns  it; 
she  boards  there.  Don't  you  think  we  can  carry 
the  lady  across  the  street  ?" 

"The  lady"  looked  up  from  the  curbstone. 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Gordon — "  she  began,  hesitat- 
ingly- 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  render  you  any  assist- 
ance in  my  power,  Mrs.  Harwood,"  said  Eloise, 
quickly. 

Her  cousin  glanced  in  surprise  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"I  met  Mrs.  Harwood  at  Beau  Lieu  two  years 
ago,"  explained  Eloise.  "  If  you  and  Dr.  Hum- 
phrey can  make  a  'chair,'  this  way,  with  your 
hands,  it  will  be  easy  to  carry  her.  This  gentle- 


54 


man,"  indicating  Daniel,  "can  take  charge  of  the 
injured  foot." 

So,  with  the  doctors  stooping  over  her,  and 
Daniel  clinging  to  the  foot  as  he  backed  before 
them,  while  Eloise  hurried  ahead  to  open  the  door, 
Mrs.  Harwood  made  her  solemn  entry. 

The  room  to  which  Eloise  conducted  them  was 
on  the  top  floor,  the  tenth,  a  large,  airy  apartment, 
thickly  hung  with  sketches  in  black-and-white  and 
coloi'.  As  they  entered,  a  door  was  softly  pushed 
together  by  some  one  in  an  adjoining  room.  An- 
other door,  through  which  came  glimpses  of  a  can- 
opied bed,  with  a  gay  silk  dressing-gown  thrown 
across  the  foot,  was  hurriedly  closed  by  Eloise,  who 
cleared  the  way  to  a  broad  couch  by  the  window. 

"  I'm  making  an  awful  lot  of  trouble!"  exclaimed 
the  injured  woman.  Her  face  looked  drawn  and 
white  among  the  bright  pillows. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure,"  responded  Eloise,  wondering, 
nevertheless,  if  Mrs.  Harwood  recognized  Eros 
and  still  resented  Eve,  smiling  as  complacently 
down  on  her  as  when  they  disputed  her  possession 
of  Langley  Hall.  If  Mrs.  Harwood  saw  the  ob- 
noxious figures  she  gave  no  sign.  Patiently  she 
endured  the  manipulations  of  the  surgeon  and 
without  complaint  listened  to  his  verdict:  "It  will 
be  six  weeks  before  you  can  use  this  hand.  I 
have  put  on  a  permanent  bandage  which  can  re- 
main three  weeks.  The  ankle  is  only  wrenched  a 
little  and  will  be  all  right  to-morrow.  The  hand, 
of  course,  you  cannot  use." 


55 


"  That  settles  it,"  said  Lucretia,  grimly.  "  Dan- 
iel, we'll  go  back  to  Kansas  to-night." 

But  they  did  not.  They  took  a  room  across  the 
hall  from  Eloi8e  and  Aunt  Harriet,  in  whose  man- 
ner native  courtesy  struggled  with  memories  of 
that  unfortunate  encounter  at  Beau  Lieu. 

Courtesy  prevailed,  however,  and,  as  Mrs.  Har- 
wood  told  the  neighbors  on  her  return  home,  her 
"  own  sister  couldn't  have  been  kinder  or  more 
attentive." 

Ready  to  depart,  her  well  hand  on  Daniel's 
shoulder,  the  lame  one  in  a  sling,  she  stood  utter- 
ing her  farewells  when  a  sudden  thought  occurred 
to  Eloise. 

"  You  haven't  seen  the  Fair  buildings  yet !"  she 
cried.  "Come  into  the  studio.  I  have  a  glass." 
She  led  her  companion  across  the  hall,  and  drew 
up  the  curtain  as  high  as  it  would  go.  "There !" 
she  exclaimed,  triumphantly,  putting  the  glass  into 
Lucretia's  hand,  which  trembled  as  she  lifted  it. 

Below  her  lay  the  spft  yellows,  reds,  and  grays 
of  many  houses,  tipped  with  chimneys  and  turrets, 
and  separated  here  and  there  by  narrow  parks, 
where  gayly  clad  children  fluttered  like  early 
butterflies. 

The  fog  had  lifted,  and  on  the  left  the  lake 
blossomed  into  violet  under  the  influence  of  the 
spring  sunshine. 

But  what  was  this,  what  vision  as  of  an  un- 
earthly city,  uplifted  into  the  mellow  southern 
sky  ?  It  was  indeed  the  city  of  her  longing,  the 


56 


City  of  Delight,  the  home  of  art,  beauty,  and 
aspiration,  the  dream  of  artist,  architect,  and  poet, 
of  mechanic  and  musician,  of  statesman  and  so- 
cialist. 

Above  the  debris  of  enormous  preparation  and 
of  enormous  disuse,  out  of  sheath  and  scaffold- 
ing, beyond  the  grasp  of  avarice  and  the  machina- 
tion of  fraud,  unmarred  by  loss  of  life  or  thwart- 
ing of  hope,  radiant  as  Aphrodite  from  the  foam 
of  her  ocean  birth,  rose  the  White  City. 

Lucretia  gazed  with  parted  lips  ;  in  spite  of  the 
unreality  of  its  exquisite  beauty,  the  picture  was 
so  familiar  in  every  line. 

There  climbed  the  dome  of  the  Administration 
Building;  the  sunlight  flashed  upon  the  figures  at 
its  base.  There  stretched  the  broad  back  of  the 
Temple  of  Manufactures.  There  were  the  stately 
colonnades  of  the  Art  Gallery.  She  knew  every 
one.  She  recognized  the  low  roof  of  the  Fisheries 
and  the  glass  globe  which  topped  Horticultural 
Hall. 

"  The  others  are  there,  somewhere,  I  suppose," 
she  murmured,  laying  down  the  glass,  which  sud- 
denly blurred. 

"You  ought  to  drive  out  there  before  you 
leave,"  said  Aunt  Harriet,  gently. 

"No,  I  must  go  right  home,"  said  Mrs.  liar- 
wood,  her  eyes  filling.  In  her  heart  she  vaguely 
felt  that  she  had  somehow  been  granted  all  the 
joy  of  the  coveted  summer  in  one  swift  glance, 
and  that  if  she  tried  to  gain  more  it  would  be  less. 


57 


"  Perhaps  you  can  return,"  suggested  Aunt 
Harriet. 

"Bimeby,"  supplemented  Daniel.  They  thought 
she  was  mourning  her  lost  opportunity.  Only 
Eloise,  from  a  point  of  view  not  unlike  that  of 
her  singular  guest,  understood  her  fully. 

"  How  queer  it  all  is !"  she  mused,  re-entering 
the  studio,  after  seeing  Lucretia  and  Daniel  care- 
fully packed  into  the  hansom  which  was  to  con- 
vey them  to  the  station. 

"  What,  dear?"  inquired  Aunt  Harriet,  mildly. 

"The — the  divine  machine,"  laughed  Eloise, 
mirthlessly.  "  It  sometimes  seems  as  if  the  Engi- 
neer had  set  it  running  and  could  not  stop  it." 

She  prepared  to  continue  her  work,  but  her 
brushes  refused  to  obey  her — nearly  a  year  since 
she  had  vowed  to  forget  Beau  Lieu,  and  here  it 
was  thrust  again  upon  her  ! 

She  took  out  Philip's  last  letter  and  read  it 
resolutely.  Faith  and  faithfulness  were  in  every 
line.  "And  that  is  what  I  want,"  she  assured 
herself,  but  herself  knew  better. 


VIII 

"  SOME  one's  taken  my  apern,"  chanted  William 
Pleasant.  It  was  early  morning,  and  the  only 
occupants  of  the  dining-room  were  the  boys  in 
their  trim  jackets  and  the  head-waiter  stalking 
to  and  fro.  "Some  man  has  taken  my  apern," 
repeated  Pleasant,  ''and  I'm  goin'  to  talk  about 
his  people.  I  see  a  gray  goose  flyin'  over.  His 
father's  a  thief  and  his  mother's  a  thief — " 

"Here's  your  apern,"  cried  Caleb,  thrusting  it 
towards  him,  "I  only  borrowed  it." 

"You  call  it  borrowin',  but  it  don't  come  back. 
At  my  home  Out  West — " 

"  Out  West !"  interrupted  Caleb,  scornfully. 
"Don't  have  men  black  as  you  Out  West.  West 
Virginny,  you  mean.  Some  little  place,  a  feller 
ridin'  thoo  could  see  every  house  lookin'  over  his 
shoulder." 

"  Where  you  live,"  rejoined  Pleasant,  contempt- 
uously, "  the  engine  get  thoo  the  town  befo'  it 
stop  whistlin'  !" 

"Attention,  boys!"  called  the  head-waiter,  and 
the  combatants  fell  into  line  ready  to  respond 
when  the  roll  was  called. 

The  dining-room  of  the  Lake  View  Hotel  is 


59 


one  of  the  most  attractive  in  Chicago,  light  and 
lofty,  with  many  windows  in  the  walls  and  stained 
glass  in  the  roof.  It  was  especially  inviting  that 
morning  with  the  sunshine  upon  the  tables  and 
upon  the  trim  figures  of  the  waiters  standing, 
each  in  his  place,  motionless  and  dumb,  while  the 
great  doors  swung  open  with  impressive  delibera- 
tion. Gradually  the  room  filled.  Pleasant  watched 
anxiously  :  a  number  of  men  in  business  suits 
flourishing  the  morning  paper;  two  or  three  women 
in  their  hats — if  his  "  folks  "  did  not  appear  soon 
he  might  be  sent  to  another  table ;  Mrs.  Shipman 
and  her  daughter — the  head-waiter  was  looking 
his  way.  Pleasant  glanced  out  of  a  neighboring 
window  until  the  head-waiter  looked  at  some  one 
else — the  Colocynths,  the  Thompsons — ah,  there 
they  were  at  last !  He  pulled  out  Miss  Gordon's 
chair  with  a  flourish,  and  shoved  Miss  Larrabee's 
tenderly  into  place,  threw  down  their  napkins  as 
one  throws  a  bouquet  to  a  prima  donna,  and  with 
his  elbow  high  in  air  tilled  their  waiting  glasses. 

It  is  a  source  of  incalculable  satisfaction  to  an 
artist  to  have  the  details  of  his  work  recognized 
and  appreciated.  Pleasant  was  an  artist ;  no  other 
waiter  at  the  Lake  View  read,  as  did  he,  chops, 
steak,  or  soft-boiled  egg  in  a  patron's  face,  and  had 
the  order  half  ready  before  the  word  was  given ; 
no  other  waiter  gauged  the  ripeness  of  the  fruit 
to  the  very  point  of  perfection,  and  calculated  the 
exact  moment  at  which  to  offer  the  finger-bowl ; 
no  other  waiter  knew  instinctively  when  it  would 


60 


be  presumption  to  offer  cakes  and  syrup,  and  when 
toast,  nut  brown  and  smoking  hot,  offered  an  irre- 
sistible appeal  to  a  jaded  stomach. 

On  the  other  hand,  only  Pleasant's  "folks"  could 
give  to  these  delicate  attentions  their  full  value. 
Peter  Glenn,  who  sat  at  the  same  table  with  his 
wife  and  two  children,  would  stupidly  repeat  his 
order  when  Pleasant  had  it  two-thirds  ready,  and 
was  as  blind  as  a  bat  to  the  arrangement  of  the 
napkins.  So,  although  Peter  was  prodigal  with 
his  quarters  and  Eloise  was  forced  to  be  sparing 
with  hers,  it  was  Eloise  who  was  served  like  a 
princess  while  Peter  was  forced  to  be  content 
with  what  was  appropriate  to  a  well-to-do  Ameri- 
can gentleman  boarding  at  a  first-rate  American 
hotel.  Moreover,  there  was  a  genuine  princess  in 
the  Lake  View  at  the  same  time,  to  say  nothing 
of  a  marquis  and  two  or  three  counts,  who  would 
have  been  glad  to  pay  good  Columbian  dollars  for 
such  service.  Proximity  to  Jackson  Park  and  to 
the  Illinois  Central  had  rendered  the  Lake  View 
very  popular,  World's  Fair  year,  especially  with 
World's  Fair  officials,  who  made  the  place  gay  with 
uniforms  and  decorations.  Mrs.  Shipman  said  "  the 
atmosphere  of  the  house  was  really  European," 
and  Mrs.  Shipman  ought  to  know ;  she  had  been 
"across"  three  times  with  her  husband,  who  trav- 
elled for  the  Liebensteins  (Shirt  and  Hose). 

Mrs.  Shipman  said  some  other  things  which 
also  carried  weight,  unfortunately  for  the  Colo- 
cynths,  with  whom  she  had  been  "  intimate  "  the 


Gl 


winter  before.  Mrs.  Colocynth  told  Aunt  Harriet 
all  about  it,  as  they  rocked  a  duet  in  the  rotunda 
after  breakfast,  and  Aunt  Harriet  came  up-stairs 
and  told  her  niece.  It  seemed  that  Mrs.  Shipman 
had  "  made  a  great  deal "  of  Corinne  Colocynth, 
aged  nine,  and  had  given  Corinne's  mother  sev- 
eral "remnants"  for  the  child,  declaring  that  she 
herself  should  never  wear  in  Chicago  the  dresses 
to  which  they  belonged.  Since  the  quarrel,  how- 
ever, Mrs.  Shipman  had  taken  a  malicious  delight 
in  wearing  those  very  dresses,  and  Corinne  was 
forced  to  return  to  her  old  clothes  or  appear  to 
have  been  "  left  over  "  from  Mrs.  Shipman.  More- 
over, Mrs.  Shipman  had  said  that  the  French  artist 
who  had  been  doing  a  portrait  of  Corinne  was  only 
a  fresco-painter.  Mrs.  Colocynth  wished  that  she 
had  known  Miss  Gordon  did  portraits.  Aunt 
Harriet  had  a  great  deal  of  sympathy  for  Mrs. 
Colocynth.  "  And  you  are  as  white  as  that  paper," 
exclaimed  Eloise,  pointing  to  the  sheet  upon  her 
easel.  "  Why  do  you  stay  down  there  with  those 
people  ?  They  always  give  you  a  headache." 

"You  know  why  I  do  it,"  cried  Aunt  Harriet, 
reproachfully.  Eloise  made  no  reply.  Since  their 
advent  at  the  Lake  View,  a  year  and  a  half  ago, 
Miss  Larrabee  had  assumed  a  new  and  most  inap- 
propriate role.  From  being  a  silent  partner  of 
the  modest  firm,  looking  after  the  mending  and 
offering  sympathy  and  counsel  when  these  were 
needed,  she  had  become  conspicuously  active, 
meddling  with  the  bills  and,  worse  yet,  attempt- 


ing  with  transparent  diplomacy  to  "drum  up 
trade "  for  her  niece.  Not  that  trade  came  by 
drumming;  the  shrewd  Northern  women  whom 
she  undertook  to  beguile  into  buying  pictures 
took  her  hyperboles  for  what  they  were  worth, 
and  when  she  told  of  the  orders  "  flowing  in  " 
made  no  effort  to  swell  the  stream. 

There  is  nothing  more  pathetic  than  the  attempt 
to  be  sharp  on  the  part  of  those  who  were  born 
honest.  Eloise,  however,  felt  the  humiliation  too 
sorely  to  recognize  the  pathos.  "There  isn't  one 
of  those  women  who  would  put  ten  dollars  into  a 
sketch,"  she  said,  hotly. 

"The  princess  might,"  suggested  Aunt  Harriet, 
with  meekness. 

Eloise  laughed  outright.  "  The  woman  with  the 
souvenir  spoons  ?"  she  inquired,  mischievously. 

Aunt  Harriet  looked  puzzled. 

"  Italia  and  Grsecia  and  Columbia,"  explained 
Eloise,  humorously.  "  The  babies  named  for  the 
places  they  were  born  in." 

It  was  Aunt  Harriet's  turn  to  look  annoyed. 
"  Eloise,"  she  said,  sorrowfully,  "  the  change  in 
your  attitude  towards  life  and — and  things  grieves 
me  beyond  measure."  She  went  into  her  own 
room,  and  there  was  silence  in  the  studio  while 
Eloise  painted  industriously. 

What  Aunt  Harriet  had  said  of  her  was  true. 
She  had  changed;  but  it  was  necessary,  she  told 
herself.  The  change  should  have  come  earlier, 
and  here  her  hand  trembled  and  gave  the  Great 


63 


God  Hermes  a  most  ungodly  leer.  She  laid  down 
her  brush  and  waited  till  her  hand  should  grow 
steady.  Her  mind  returned  to  Philip,  for  it  was 
Philip  whom  her  aunt  meant  under  the  vague 
allusions.  Philip  was  the  thorn  in  her  side,  the 
cloud  in  her  sky,  the  gravel  in  her  porridge — all  the 
sharper,  the  heavier,  the  more  grinding  because 
his  name  was  not  mentioned.  When  Aunt  Harriet 
paraded  the  darn  in  her  stocking  and  last  year's 
rose  on  her  bonnet,  when  she  sacrificed  her  own 
dignity  and  that  of  her  niece  in  vain  attempts  to 
gather  custom,  when  she  pined  for  a  little  bright- 
ness in  her  monotonous  life,  she  was  reminding 
her  rebellious  niece  that  "things  might  be  dif- 
ferent." 

If  Eloise  had  been  less  kind  to  Philip  before 
they  left  Beau  Lieu  neither  he  nor  Aunt  Harriet 
would  have  been  so  persistent ;  but  they  had 
planted  a  vigorous  hope  then  and  there,  and  they 
guarded  it  jealousl}7-,  waiting  for  a  return  of  the 
gentleness  and  dependence  which  had  been  its 
sunshine  and  dew.  They  decided  to  let  the  girl 
have  her  way,  to  let  her  struggle  with  the  world 
until  she  had  enough  of  it. 

Eloise  seemed  only  to  toughen  with  the  struggle. 
She  lectured  and  taught  and  painted  better  than 
ever  before.  She  grew  taller  and  more  upright 
and  more  defiant,  carrying  herself  like  a  young 
Diana,  and,  like  her,  hating  any  one  who  came  too 
near.  Once  she  had  been  taken  off  her  guard, 
once  she  had  been  lured  out  of  her  defences;  she 


64 


shut  her  teeth  and  clinched  her  hands  whenever 
she  thought  of  it,  and  of  the  limp,  helpless  creat- 
ure she  had  become  at  that  time.  It  was  a  wonder 
that  she  had  not  surrendered  to  Philip's  tender- 
ness then,  or  in  the  year  which  followed.  She 
went  over  it  dreamily :  her  first  glimpse  of  Chicago ; 
that  ride  up  Cottage  Grove  Avenue  in  the  cable- 
car;  the  heat,  the  dirt,  the  smells;  the  flaring  ad- 
vertisements of  whiskies  to  make  one  drunk  and 
of  seltzers  to  make  one  sober;  of  dissipations  to 
take  out  the  color  in  one's  cheeks  and  cosmetics 
to  put  it  on  again;  the  sentimental  Indians  before 
the  tobacconists;  the  bilious  bears  and  mangy 
buffaloes  before  the  furriers;  and  the  people — oh, 
the  people!  They  were  much  as  they  are  in  every 
large  city  when  Money  and  Leisure  have  left 
town,  and  the  long  spoon  of  August  lias  been 
stirring  and  bringing  the  dregs  to  the  surface  ; 
but  to  the  tired  traveller  there  had  never  been, 
never  could  be,  anything  so  horrible.  Then, 
through  the  filth  and  the  noise  and  the  hopeless 
vulgarity,  she  had  found  her  way  to  the  group  of 
white  buildings  in  Jackson  Park.  And  that  was 
Chicago,  too  ! 

She  had  learned  afterwards  that  these  were  not 
all;  that  in  Chicago,  as  well  as  elsewhere,  there  are 
representatives  of  every  class  ;  but  J-he  first  im- 
pression lingered  and  influenced  the  development 
which  Aunt  Harriet  called  "  the  change  in  her 
attitude."  It  was  less  a  change  than  a  differentia- 
tion, a  separation  of  her  subtler,  more  artistic  part 


65 


from  the  part  of  her  which  met  and  mastered  her 
financial  problems,  dealt  hardly  with  Philip,  shook 
off  Aunt  Harriet,  and  snubbed  the  uninteresting 
women  in  the  house.  She  thought  she  had  solved 
the  riddle  of  existence;  she  had  only  avoided  it. 
But  this  avoidance  served  to  steady  her  hand  now, 
as  it' had  done  many  times  before;  she  took  up 
her  brushes  and  restored  his  dignity  to  the  Great 
God  Hermes. 

The  first  of  May  brought  changes.  Rents  went 
up  with  a  spring,  and  a  general  upheaval  ensued. 
The  usual  unhappy  spectacle  of  moving  day  was 
rendered  more  melancholy  this  year  by  the  fact 
that  in  nearly  every  instance  tenants  were  driven 
out  to  make  room  for  World's  Fair  people. 

Everywhere  the  waving  flags  of  the  proces- 
sions met  the  top-heavy  drays,  into  which  had 
gone,  as  into  the  ark,  a  specimen  of  what  was  to 
be  saved.  Before  the  rising  tide  of  dukes  and 
duchesses,  lords  and  ladies,  ambassadors  and  ex- 
hibitors, this  flotsam  and  jetsam  drifted  into  the 
corners,  while  mayor  and  alderman,  committee 
and  delegates  pressed  gayly  forward,  bowing  and 
rubbing  their  hands.  After  all,  it  was  not  Royal- 
ty or  Progress  whose  approach  they  hailed,  but 
another,  graver  divinity,  the  Pluto  of  our  modern 
faith — Business.  It  was  the  triumph  of  Business, 
who  is  the  god  of  the  multitude;  so  all  were 
submissive,  even  those  who  were  sacrificed.  After 
the  upheaval  had  subsided,  the  poorest  and  most 
remote  took  heart  again  and  joined  in  the  general 


effort  to  "  make  a  dollar,"  renting  rooms  and  sell- 
ing meals,  all  that  they  could  spare — and  more, 
as  the  death-rates  for  that  year  testify. 

The  Lake  View  was  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
The  old  guests  were  turned  out  or  crowded  to- 
gether to  make  room  for  the  new  ones.  Eloise 
and  Aunt  Harriet  gave  up  their  bedrooms  and 
slept  in  the  studio,  one  on  the  couch  and  the  other 
in  a  folding-bed  which  simulated  a  writing-desk. 
Eloise  had  an  exhibit  of  miniatures  at  the  Fair; 
this  gave  her  a  pass,  and  she  spent  much  of  her 
time  at  Jackson  Park  preparing  a  course  of  lect- 
ures to  be  delivered  at  Beau  Lieu  in  July,  for 
the  summer  university  was  to  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  the  magazines  and  have  a  World's  Fair 
"  number." 


IX 


THREE  men  were  smoking  their  evening  cigars 
in  a  cozy  library  in  South  Chicago :  an  old  man, 
evidently  the  host,  and  two  young  men,  his  guests. 
It  was  a  pleasant  room,  rendered  more  pleasant 
to-night  by  contrast  with  the  dull  drizzle  without 
and  with  the  chill  which  came  up  from  the  lake, 
although  it  was  May.  There  were  books  on 
shelves  which  ran  almost  from  floor  to  ceiling, 
leaving  space  only  for  windows  and  doors  and 
for  a  huge  portrait  of  Emerson  set  like  a  jewel  in 
a  shrine  among  the  volumes;  there  were  books  on 
the  broad  inlaid  table  which  held  nothing  else 
except  a  lamp  with  a  porcelain  shade ;  and  there 
were  books  in  the  corners  piled  high  in  happy 
confusion. 

The  face  of  the  old  man  reflected  the  refine- 
ment and  scholarship  amid  which  he  sat,  but  his 
dark  eyes  looked  out  appealingly  under  their  white 
brows,  and  one  suspected  a  sensitive  tremulous- 
ness  of  the  lips  hidden  by  the  close  white  beai'd. 
His  frame,  too,  although  large,  was  loosely  put 
together,  and  had  a  helpless  look  as  if  the  owner 
had  never  learned  to  utilize  its  strength. 

Quite  otherwise  appeared  the  man  who  sat  op- 


68 


posite  him,  alive  in  every  part,  covering  every 
object  at  which  he  gazed,  seeming  larger  than  he 
actually  was  for  the  vitality  which  emanated  from 
him  like  an  atmosphere.  The  third  member  of 
the  party  was  younger,  smaller,  slighter,  with 
golden  hair  and  beard  and  laughing  gray  eyes. 

The  two  young  men  were  telling  a  story,  each 
interrupting  the  other,  somewhat  as  follows  : 

"  I  was  coaching  Joe  in  Greek  at  the  time,  and 
had  promised  his  mother  to  keep  him  out  of  mis- 
chief." 

"  Danger,  Mark,"  corrected  the  other. 

"That  was  the  only  mischief  she  feared,  poor 
soul !  One  night  there  was  to  be  a  cane-rush  be- 
tween Freshmen  and  Sophomores,  and  she  came 
to  me  and  begged  me  to  keep  him  in." 

"A  lot  you  did!  I'd  have  gone  if  I  had 
chosen." 

"Be  quiet,  Joe.  My  gentle  Freshman  was  so 
submissive  that  I  gave  him  a  long  rope  after  that, 
and  he  did  as  he  pleased.  At  last,  one  cold  winter 
nightr  he  surprised  me  with  an  invitation  to  go 
down  to  South  Boston  to  see  a  prize-fight." 

"  You  should  have  seen  his  face,  uncle,"  broke 
in  the  young  man,  laughing. 

"Well,"  continued  Mark,  "  I  remembered  some- 
thing I  had  read  about  the  sanguinary  appetites 
of  refined  women,  and — 

"Come  off  !"  interrupted  Jo. 

" — and  being  interested  in  psychological  in- 
vestigations I  concluded  that  I  would  go  and 


see  the  effect  of  this  terrible  scene  upon  my 
cnarge." 

"Symonds,  too — don't  forget  Pions  John  Sy- 
raonds.  He  went  along  for  psychological  pur- 
poses, too.  He  was  studying  for  the  ministry, 
uncle." 

"  Our  Freshman  appeared  promptly,"  continued 
the  story-teller,  "  wrapped  from  neck  to  heels  in 
a  long  ulster,  and  with  his  cap  pulled  down  to 
meet  his  collar.  I  thought  nothing  of  that,  the 
night  was  cold.  But  he  certainly  manifested  an 
astonishing  familiarity  with  South  Boston  and 
with  the  toughs  who  filled  the  hall  into  which  he 
led  us — the  Avorst  crowd  I  ever  saw." 

"  Nonsense !" 

"  Our  young  friend  took  us  to  a  conspicuous 
position  near  the  ring,  and  then  slid  off,  leaving 
us  to  listen  to  the  comments  going  on  around  us. 
A  new  star,  an  amateur — The  Melrose  Bantam — 
was  going  to  try  conclusions  with  a  wiry  old  sin- 
ner who  had  already  appeared,  scowling  defiance 
on  all  sides.  By-and-by  the  Bantam  came  out  to 
meet  him — you  could  have  knocked  me  over  with 
a  feather;  it  was  my  gentle,  golden-haired  cherub! 
I  was  dreaming  out  a  plan  to  carry  home  the 
pieces  and  tell  his  mother  there  had  been  a  wreck 
on  the  train  as  we  came  from  Mission  Sunday- 
school  when  I  suddenly  awoke  to  a  realization  of 
the  fact  that  the  cherub  had  won  the  purse  by 
the  most  scientific  dodging  that  South  Boston 
ever  saw." 


70 


"  And  the  way  he  shot  me  into  my  ulster  and 
patted  me  on  the  back,  and  scolded  me  and  patteM 
me  some  more — "  cried  the  hero. 

"And  never  let  him  out  of  my  sight  again 
until  he  was  safely  graduated,"  concluded 
Mark. 

"  But  then  he  cut  sticks  for  a  beastly  hole  up 
in  the  Northwest,  and  I  never  got  sight  of  him 
again  all  summer,"  complained  Joe.  "  What's 
more,  he  dug  back  there  again  two  years  ago  and 
has  never  been  the  same  since.  Sits  up  all  night 
reading  ghastly  books  on  hypnotism  and  Black 
Art,  and  I  don't  know  what  it's  all  about." 

Mark  smiled.  "  Don't  try  to  talk  about  it  then, 
Joey,"  he  said,  patronizingly.  "  Have  a  light, 
Mr.  Norton  ?" 

The  old  man  received  the  proffered  courtesy, 
and  devoted  himself  in  silence  to  his  cigar  for 
some  minutes.  At  last  he  said,  slowly,  "I've 
often  wondered  how  much  truth  there  is  in  all 
that — what  they  call  hypnotism." 

"Ask  Mark,"  replied  his  nephew;  "be  can 
tell  you.  He's  a  regular  wizard."  Mark  looked 
as  if  he  did  not  hear. 

Mr.  Norton  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  and  re- 
garded him  earnestly.  "  Do  you  think  there  is 
really  anything  in  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  was  with  Charcot  one  day  when  he  brought 
up  a  blue  swelling  on  a  woman's  wrist  and  dis- 
pelled it  in  fifteen  minutes,"  said  Mark,  "  and  I 
know  a  physician,  a  reliable  man,  who  saw  the 


71 


red  cross  which  Backman  put  on  his  servant- 
girl's  arm  every  Friday  for  three  months." 

"Meanwhile  this  investigator  was  supposed  to 
be  doing  business  for  the  firm,"  put  in  Joey. 

"Did  the  firm  suffer?"  inquired  Mark. 

"  Can't  say  that  it  did,  but — " 

"How  do  you  explain  it,  Mark  ?"  exploded  Mr. 
Norton.  "How  do  you  explain  it?" 

Mark  drew  in  a  long  breath  and  sent  it  out 
again  laden  with  azure  smoke.  "There  is  only 
one  explanation  possible,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  It 
is  to  be  found  in  the  subjection  of  the  body  to 
the  mind,  and  the  submission  of  one  mind  to 
another." 

"But  that  seems  so — horrible  !"  cried  Mr.  Nor- 
ton, bringing  his  hand  down  on  the  table  with  a 
force  which  made  the  lamp-shade  rattle.  "Such 
a  terrible  power  to  put  into  the  hands  of  one  per- 
son over  another." 

"It  is  a  responsibility,"  said  Mark,  gravely. 
"  But  you  must  remember  that  we  are  discussing 
a  universal  law,  not  a  particular  endowment.  The 
very  susceptibility  of  that  poor  woman  to  Char- 
cot's  influence  was  the  indication  that  she  shared 
with  the  operator  the  power  of  suggestion.  Her 
submission  was  the  other  half  of  his  control." 

"That  doesn't  help  me  any,"  returned  Mr.  Nor- 
ton, disconsolately.  "  The  fact  that  one  person  is 
made  to  receive  an  impression  and  another  is 
made  to  give  it  is  just  what  I  deplore." 

"But  see  here,"  returned  Mark,  with  a  lumi- 


72 


nous  smile,  "What  if  you  determine  beforehand 
what  sort  of  an  impression  you  shall  receive  ?" 

"  Can  you  do  that  ?" 

"Assuredly." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I  can  fortify  my- 
self, that  I  can  get  myself  ready  before  the  oper- 
ator takes  hold  of  me,  and  that  he  cannot  hurt 
me,  cannot  give  me  any  idea  which  I  have  de- 
cided not  to  receive  ?" 

"  Precisely  ;  an  auto-suggestion  is  more  power- 
ful than  any  suggestion  from  another." 

"  Then  susceptibility — " 

"Is  one's  own  weapon,  after  all,"  finished  Mark, 
"which  doesn't  let  out  the  operator — he  is  still 
accountable." 

There  was  another  pause,  during  which  Joey 
routed  a  huge  tiger-cat  out  of  his  nest  in  a  corner, 
and  pretended  to  make  passes  over  him,  a  perform- 
ance at  which  Dan  blinked  benevolently. 

"  Mark,"  continued  the  elder  man,  at  length, 
"I  believe  that  auto-suggestion  of  yours  would 
explain  a  great  many  things,  a  great  many  phe- 
nomena of  science  and  religion  which  have  puz- 
zled and  bewildered  us  all  our  lives." 

"Undoubtedly,"  returned  Mark,  with  emphasis. 
"It  is  by  auto-suggestion  that  the  pilgrim  to 
Loudres  is  healed.  It  is  by  the  same  law  that 
faces  take  on  characteristic  lines  according  to  the 
occupation  of  their  owners.  As  Paracelsus  says, 
'The  mind  is  the  master,  the  imagination  is  the 
tool,  the  body  is  the  plastic  material.' " 


73 


"  If  you've  begun  on  Paracelsus  I'm  going  to 
bed,"  cried  young  Norton,  putting  down  the  cat, 
which  stretched  and  yawned  and  walked  solemn- 
ly back  to  the  cushions  in  the  corner. 

"All  right,  Joey,"  replied  Mark,  "I'll  be  up 
presently." 

"No  you  won't,"  replied  Joey  sceptically.  "I 
know  you.  But  I  can't  help  myself.  Good-night !" 

After  he  had  left  the  room,  his  uncle  walked 
restlessly  up  and  down,  evidently  stirred  by  some 
deep  emotion.  Finally  he  stopped  in  front  of 
Mark  and  said,  softly,  "  Mark,  I  want  to  tell  you 
something.  When  I  was  a  boy  of  sixteen  I  had 
what  they  called  then  a  change  of  heart.  I  expe- 
rienced religion,  as  they  used  to  say.  There  was 
a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth  for  me.  I  was  in 
love  and  charity  with  all  men.  It  was  natural  to 
be  good  ;  it  was  unnatural  not  to  be  good.  By- 
and-by — "  the  old  man  sighed^and  shook  his  head. 
"  By-and-by  I  got  over  it  and  became  pretty  much 
like  every  one  else,  hard  and  cold  and  selfish — 
and  unhappy.  But,  Mark,  I'd  give  all  I  possess 
to  feel  as  I  did  Avhen  I  had  that  change  of  heart. 
Do  you  suppose  that  was  auto-suggestion  ?" 

Mark  looked  up  quickly,  but  it  was  some  time 
before  he  spoke.  His  voice  was  very  gentle  as 
he  said,  "  I  suppose  it  was." 

"Then,"  inquired  the  old  man,  eagerly,  "Why 
can't  I  do  it  again  ?  I've  tried.  I've  read  good 
books  and  been  to  church  ;  but  I  can't  get  hold 
of  it.  I  can't  get  hold  of  it. 


74 


Mark  rose  and  laid  his  long  right  arm  across 
the  old  man's  shoulder.  "Do  you  know  why? 
Because  you  didn't  believe  half  of  what  you 
read  ;  you  believed  almost  nothing  of  what  you 
heard."" 

A  faint  smile  broke  over  the  other's  face.  "I 
guess  that  is  about  so,"  he  replied.  "  But,  Mark, 
you  can't  believe  to  order." 

"No,  you  can't,  but  you  can  have  it  out  with 
yourself  and  know  where  you  stand." 

"And  then?" 

"  Then  when  you  are  sure  of  something,  act  as 
if  you  were  sure.  That  is  what  you  did  Avhen 
you  '  experienced  religion.'  " 

"  I  don't  quite  understand." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  explain  by  telling  you  my  own 
expei'ience.  When  I  was  in  college  twelve  years 
ago  (sit  down,  it's  a  long  story),  all  this  Modern 
Philosophy,  as  we^call  it  now,  was  looked  upon 
as  possible  but  not  proven.  I  wanted  to  believe  it, 
and  so  I  did,  after  a  fashion.  I  swore  by  Spinoza 
and  defended  Berkeley  ;  I  dipped  into  Buddhism 
and  tried  to  be  a  Yogi  ;  in  short,  I  played  all 
sorts  of  tricks  with  myself,  and  then,  on  gradua- 
tion, went  up  to  the  Beau  Lieu  summer  school  to 
teach  Greek.  Among  my  scholars  was  a  young 
French  girl,  a  delicate,  determined  little  creature, 
who  swallowed  everything  I  said  ;  and  I  said  a 
great  deal.  The  queer  part  of  it  was  she  set  to 
work  to  apply  what  I  preached,  and  when  I  came 
back  ten  years  later,  having  lost  all  my  beautiful 


theories,  she  was  a  living  example  of  what  could  be 
done  with  them.  Like  Una,  she  '  made  sunshine  in 
the  shady  place.'  Everywhere  she  carried  bright- 
ness and  courage  and  a  new  hope.  I  went  back  to 
New  York  possessed  with  a  determination  to  hunt 
up  my  old  note-books  and  see  what  I  could  do  in 
the  way  of  Idealism."  Mark  stopped  and  broke 
into  a  laugh.  "  Of  all  the  moonshine  !"  he  con- 
tinued, "  I  might  as  well  try  to  live  on  cobwebs 
strung  with  dew.  But  I  knew  it  teas  there.  Fort- 
unately I  fell  in  with  some  scientific  men  and 
had  an  opportunity  to  watch  their  experiments. 
There  I  had  the  actual  proof  that  thought  can 
control  and  can  be  controlled.  I  began  to  see  the 
inside  working  of  the  human  engine.  But  I  tell 
you  what,  Mr.  Norton,  I  realized  as  I  never  had 
before  the  awful  significance  of  the  soul,  its  ap- 
palling opportunities  for  self-preservation  and 
self-destruction.  How  any  one  can  deny  Free- 
will in  the  face  of  the  unlimited  chances  a  man 
has  to  make  a  mess  of  it  beats  me  !" 

"  I  don't  care  anything  about  that.  I  don't 
care  anything  about  the  will,"  broke  in  the  old 
man,  impatiently  ;  "  what  I  want  is  faith,  the 
faith  of  my  boyhood,  the  realization  of  the  power 
outside  of  ourselves,  not  of  ourselves,  which  makes 
for  righteousness  !" 

"  Realization  ?"  repeated  Mark.  "  There  it  is. 
You  want  one  thing  and  you  are  looking  for  an- 
other. You  want  something  tangible,  something 
to  satisfy  your  reason,  and  you  are  looking  for 


76 


the  intangible  sentiment  of  your  boyhood  That 
is  quite  a  different  affair,  and  you  won't  get  it 
again  if  you  are  anything  like  the  rest  of  us." 

"  But  the  other  is  so  cold,  so  cold,"  murmured 
the  old  man.  "A  mere  matter  of  the  intellect. 
There  is  no  heart  in  it." 

"What  was  your  boyish  feeling?  The  intel- 
lect was  there,  only  exercising  another  function. 
You  make  as  much  of  the  heart  as  the  doctors 
used  to  make  of  the  liver.  We  have  learned  that 
botli  are  the  healthier  for  being  sometimes  ig- 
nored." 

"And  you  haven't  told  me  yet  what  faith  is," 
pursued  the  old  man,  querulously. 

"  '  Faith  is  the  fealty  of  the  soul  to  reason,' " 
quoted  Mark. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  The  adhesion  of  the  soul  to  its  reasonable 
hypotheses.  You  must  have  hypotheses,  even  in 
science,  but  they  must  be  reasonable,  or  you  have 
superstition  instead  of  faith." 

"But  you  can't  govern  that  by  the  will, "broke 
in  the  other  impatiently.  "How  has  the  will 
anything  to  do  with  faith — that's  what  I  want  to 
know." 

"To  see  the  truth  is  a  matter  of  the  will,  isn't 
it  ?  To  acknowledge  it  when  seen  is  a  matter  of 
the  will.  To  hold  fast  to  it  when  acknowledged 
is  a  matter  of  the  will,  always,"  returned  Mark. 

His  vehemence  warmed  for  an  instant  the  aged 
face  turned  wistfully  towards  him.  Then  the 


77 


light  faded,  and  the  chill  came  back  like  a  veil. 
"  It  wouldn't  be  like  the  other,"  sighed  the  old 
man.  "  Your  faith  is  very  different  from  mine, 
very  different.  Well,  good-night,  Mark,  good- 
night." 

"  Good-night  and  good-bye,"  said  Mark,  hold- 
ing with  a  close  grasp  the  hand  which  was  offered 
him. 

"  Good-bye  ?" 

"Yes,  we  must  get  away  early,  to-morrow,  be- 
fore you  are  out  of  bed  or  ought  to  be  out  of  it." 
"  Can't  you  wait  for  breakfast  ?" 
"  We  shall  get  breakfast  aboard  the  train." 
"  Well,  well !     But  you  will  be  back  ?" 
"  In  September,  probably.     There  is  talk  of  my 
coming  here  to  establish  a  branch  of  the  business. 
Good-bye." 

Long  after  he  had  heard  his  host  climb  the 
stairs,  Mark  sat  thinking,  in  his  own  room,  of 
what  had  been  said. 

"The  snake  is  wise,"  he  mused.  "It  sloughs 
its  old  skin  ;  the  bird  moults  and  the  bear  sheds 
its  fur;  but  a  man  will  hug  an  old  opinion  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  new  ones.  That  will  not  I !"  and 
he  went  complacently  to  bed,  not  realizing  that 
facility  in  the  exercise  of  a  virtue  proclaims  the 
ease  with  which  it  may  become  a  vice. 


THE  idea  of  the  Columbian  Celebration  devel- 
oped much  as  the  strawberry  grows — by  offshoots 
from  a  central  purpose.  There  was  the  vigorous 
architectural  plant  at  Jackson  Park,  there  was  the 
clump  of  congresses  at  the  new  Art  Institute,  and 
there  were  innumerable  "  runners "  setting  out 
from  these  and  corning  up  into  tufts  of  investiga- 
tion and  argument  all  over  the  city. 

One  of  these  may  be  designated  the  Hindoo 
tuft.  It  struck  root  in  favorable  soil.  Philoso- 
phies and  cults  more  or  less  incomprehensible  had 
harrowed  the  spot  for  several  years.  A  number 
of  women  and  some  men  had  openly  avowed  their 
intention  of  living  on  a  higher  plane  than  that 
which  satisfied  their  neighbors.  To  this  end, 
they  had  studied  "abstraction"  and  "projected 
thought"  until  their  heads  swam  ;  but  they  needed 
a  guide,  a  leader.  The  climate,  the  surroundings, 
and  a  certain  practical  bent  induced  by  the  open- 
eyed,  hard-fisted  struggle  of  their  fathers  rendered 
it  extremely  difficult  for  them  to  relax.  The  Hin- 
doo, Haridass  Goculdass,  not  only  told  them  how 
it  was  done,  but  did  it,  and  did  nothing  else, 
wrapping  himself  with  meditation  as  with  a  gar- 


7'J 


ment,  sublimely  unconscious  of  material  needs. 
He  had  learned  by  experience  how  easy  it  was  to 
find  some  one  to  manage  that  part  for  him.  In 
this  instance,  the  Ross  girls  were  the  proud  and 
happy  ministrants  to  Goculdass's  physical  com- 
fort. The  Jewetts  and  the  Laphams  and  plenty 
of  others  would  have  welcomed  the  opportunity 
had  it  come  their  way,  but  the  Rosses  inherited 
him  from  their  cousins  in  Boston,  who  discovered 
him  soon  after  his  arrival  in  America. 

The  Rosses  leaped  into  immediate  and  conspic- 
uous popularity.  Carriages  with  liveried  foot- 
men stood  before  their  door  all  day.  Invitations 
poured  in  for  luncheon,  dinner,  and  breakfast,  ad- 
dressed to  the  three  women  and  their  distinguished 
guest.  Goculdass  affected  an  elegant  seclusion, 
accepted  few  invitations,  and  absolutely  refused 
to  speak  in  public.  His  methods  were  not  those 
of  ordinary  lecturers;  he  issued  no  tickets,  charged 
no  admittance,  employed  no  manager,  and  was 
content  with  voluntary  contributions,  which  Julia 
Ross  received  for  him.  Permitted  an  unlimited 
generosity,  his  patrons  paid  as  much  as  they 
pleased  for  the  privilege  of  hearing  how  much 
wiser  and  holier  than  the  Americans  the  Hindoos 
are,  together  with  a  great  many  wonderful  and 
excellent  teachings  from  the  Atharva  Veda  and 
the  Upanishads.  It  was  not  for  himself  that 
Haridass  Goculdass  received  any  return  for  his 
priceless  lessons,  but  for  the  school  in  which  he 
had  been  instructed,  and  which  seemed  to  be  as 


80 


poor  in  a  worldly  sense  as  it  was  rich  in  spiritu- 
ality. 

Uncle  Oliver  Ross  remarked  upon  this  state  of 
affairs  to  his  niece  Julia  when  she  tried  to  explain 
the  basis  upon  which  Goculdass  operated.  "  Lots 
of  religion  and  no  money  ;  so  they  want  to  swap 
off,"  he  commented.  "  That's  business-like,  I'm 
sure."  His  small  eyes  twinkled  significantly. 

Julia  tossed  her  head.  "Nothing  of  the  soi't, 
Uncle  Oliver.  Goculdass  felt  impelled  to  come 
to  us ;  he  felt  that  we  were  ready  for  him.  He 
is  not  begging  for  his  college,  but  people  are  so 
grateful  for  what  he  gives  that  they  insist  upon 
some  return." 

"And  then  they  are  grateful  some  more  for 
being  allowed  to  make  the  return.  That's  what 
I  call  a  slick  deal." 

Julia  pouted.  "  Do  you  want  to  come  or  not  ? 
People  are  perfectly  crazy  for  the  chance.  I've 
been  having  telephone  messages  alF  the  morning 
just  begging  to  be  let  in." 

"  I  suppose  it's  a  kind  of  a  woman  show." 

"Dr.  Humphrey  is  coming  and  Carl  Dering." 

"  Jim  Humphrey  interested  in  this  thing  ?" 

"  Very  much  interested.  And  I  stopped  at  the 
rectory  and  invited  Mr.  Sawyer. 

"  What  does  he  think  of  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Julia.  "But  he  is 
coming,  unless  he  happens  to  be  called  out  of 
town  to  an  old  parishioner  who  is  very  low.  Do 
corne,  Uncle  Oliver." 


81 


"I'll  see.     I'll  see.     To-morrow  at  four?" 

"  We've  said  four,  but  people  are  so  unpunctual, 
it  will  probably  be  five  when  AVC  begin." 

It  was  somewhat  after  five  when  Dr.  Humphrey 
and  Carl  Bering  entered  the  Rosses'  reception- 
hall,  a  large  room,  open  to  the  roof,  with  wind- 
ing stairways  in  the  rear  leading  to  the  second 
and  third  stories.  On  these  stairways  and  in  the 
galleries  between,  young  girls  were  sitting,  bright 
as  flowers  in  their  spring  dresses.  The  hall  below 
and  the  parlors  opening  on  either  side  were  re- 
served for  their  elders.  There  were  few  men 
among  them ;  Mr.  Savage,  alert  and  critical, 
Uncle  Oliver,  with  his  cynical  eyes  half  shut  and 
an  amused  look  on  his  face,  a  half-dozen  young- 
sters from  the  University,  and  Professor  La  Motte, 
who  taught  the  Ross  girls  French,  his  mustaches 
freshly  waxed  and  his  most  courtly  manner  on. 

Julia  Ross  came  forward,  as  Dr.  Humphrey  and 
Carl  entered,  and  led  them  to  seats  commanding 
a  view  of  the  stairway.  "  He  has  not  come  down 
yet,"  she  said,  softly.  "  Mrs.  Ayre,  Miss  Ayre,  let 
me  present  Dr.  Humphrey,  Dr.  Dering." 

A  blond  matron  and  a  still  more  blond  maiden 
looked  up  with  welcoming  smiles,  but,  before  they 
could  speak,  a  little  flutter  ran  through  the  assem- 
bly, and  Julia  Ross  whispered,  "Ah,  there  he  is !" 

A  massive  figure,  before  which  the  parterre  of 
bright  dresses  swayed  like  blossoms  before  a 
breeze,  came  slowly  down  the  stairs.  Goculdass 
was  attired  in  a  red  robe  girt  with  a  cord  of  the 


82 


same  color.  He  was  tall  and  broad-shouldered, 
with  a  chest  like  that  of  an  ox.  Bovine,  too,  were 
his  sleepy,  dark  eyes,  and  the  calm  of  his  smooth, 
handsome  face  suggested  the  repose  of  Apis, 
the  representative  of  Osiris,  after  a  hearty  meal. 
Everything  about  him  betokened  comfort  and 
personal  ease.  The  hand  on  the  balustrade- rail, 
by  which  he  guided  his  deliberate  descent,  was 
brown,  but  shapely  and  well  kept. 

With  superb  self-possession,  he  fronted  the 
eyes,  reverent  and  curious,  uplifted  to  him,  and 
with  magnificent  leisure  advanced  to  the  seat 
prepared  like  a  throne  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
Here  he  paused,  an  effective  instant,  before  he 
began  to  speak,  in  tones  almost  childlike  in  their 
sweetness  and  unconcern,  and  with  an  accent 
which  went  up  at  the  end  of  the  sentences,  inde- 
scribably airy  and  charming. 

At  first  his  voice  was  low  and  passionless,  but 
when  he  mentioned  his  people  his  throat  swelled 
with  a  note  like  that  of  a  trumpet,  while  his  heavy 
lids  were  lifted  to  let  out  a  glance  of  fire. 

The  Associated  Charities  would  not  have  liked 
what  he  said,  neither  would  the  American  Board 
of  Foreign  Missions,  but  so  subtle  was  the  attack 
upon  Occidental  methods  that  few  among  those 
that  listened  recognized  more  than  an  eloquent 
appeal  for  a  consideration  of  the  philosophies  of 
the  Orient. 

"  I  hope  it  isn't  all  over  Uncle  Oliver's  head," 
thought  Julia  Ross,  and  wished  that  Goculdass 


83 


would  say  less  about  the  Hindoo's  imperviousness 
to  heat  and  cold  ;  Uncle  Oliver  would  declare  he 
could  get  along  with  an  umbrella  and  an  over- 
coat. And  all  that  eloquent  description  of  the 
mystic  going  down  to  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  to 
relinquish  his  hold  on  physical  life  would  strike 
her  practical  kinsman  as  what  he  would  call 
"  bosh."  To  her  relief,  Goculdass  began  to  quote 
from  the  Vedas,  arching  his  beautiful  mouth  like 
the  roof  of  a  temple,  sending  the  mysterious 
words  ringing  through  the  house. 

"You  will  ask,"  continued  the  speaker,  resum- 
ing his  ordinary  tone,  "  Is  this  practical  ?  What 
can  we  get  out  of  it  for  our  life  ?  But  what  is 
your  life  ?  It  is  an  opportunity  for  the  animal  to 
become  a  god.  What  is  more  practical  than  a 
faith  that  will  assist  man  to  do  this,  to  recognize 
himself  as  divine  ? 

"There  is  a  story  of  a  maiden  who  discovered 
the  outline  of  herself  in  a  muddy  pool.  She  saw 
it  again  afterwards,  more  distinctly,  in  running 
water.  Again  she  saw  her  image  more  plainly 
reflected  in  polished  metal.  At  last  she  saw  her- 
self in  a  mirror.  So  it  is  with  man.  He  must 
come  to  know  himself.  It  is  not  possible  all  at 
once.  We  have  various  religions  for  the  differ- 
ent degrees  of  man's  comprehension.  All  are 
good  in  their  way,  but  they  only  prepare  for 
another  development.  The  Devas,  the  Bright 
Ones,  of  one  period  become  the  devils  of  another. 
"We  are  continually  outgrowing  our  beliefs, 


84 


because  we  are  continually  developing  into  some- 
thing higher.  It  is  nonsense  to  say  that  religion 
came  from  heaven.  Religion  is  the  outgrowth 
of  human  consciousness.  It  is  from  within.  Man 
looks  out  and  up  at  first,  but  finally  returns  to 
himself.  He  has  been  praying  to  himself,  all  the 
time.  He  discovers  that  the  god  is  within,  not 
outside  nor  above.  Then  he  says, '  I  am  He  !  I 
am  He  !' " 

The  most  delightful  feature  of  all  right-minded 
courtship  is  the  assurance  of  the  beloved  by  the 
lover  that  she  is  more  than  human.  The  maturer 
women  present  had  experienced  this  ;  the  younger 
women  had  at  least  imagined  it ;  but  none  of 
them  had  been  told  that  she  was  divine,  and  by 
one  who  seemed  to  have  no  doubt  of  the  truth  of 
what  he  said.  It  was  incense  in  their  nostrils  and 
meat-and-drink  offerings  in  their  mouths.  They 
tasted  for  the  moment  the  joys  of  Olympus,  which 
are  but  human  joys,  after  all. 

Again  he  paused  and  began  to  chant  in  that 
strange,  sweet  monotone  which  thrilled  the  sensi- 
tive women  before  him  like  a  draught  of  wine. 
Then  back  again  to  his  rambling  discourse  :  "  My 
old  master  used  to  say,  '  On  a  sultry  summer  even- 
ing we  sit  and  fan  ourselves.  By-and-by  a  breeze 
comes  along  and  we  throw  away  the  fan.  So 
books  and  churches  and  sects  and  denominations 
serve  to  help  us  until  we  come  to  the  personal 
realization  of  God.  Then  away  they  go  !" 

Julia  Ross  glanced  uneasily  towards  Mr.  Saw- 


85 


yer,  but  that  exponent  of  transitory  institutions 
gave  no  sign  of  discomposure. 

"  If  you  are  Aryans,  you  are  the  renegades,  not 
I,"  pursued  Haridass  Goculdass  authoritatively. 
"  Christianity  was  forced  on  the  Anglo-Saxons  at 
the  point  of  the  sword.  Charlemagne  was  con- 
verted by  his  wife,  and  set  out  to  convert  the 
world.  On  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  it  was,  'Heads 
off  with  those  who  resist  !  Dump  the  rest  in  the 
water  !  They  come  up  baptized  Christians  !'  " 
Professor  La  Motte,  the  old  cynic,  was  smiling 
broadly.  The  university  boys  were  evidently  im- 
pressed. 

"  I  can't  help  it  if  they're  not  all  pleased,"  said 
Julia  to  herself  ;  but  her  thoughts  wandered  dur- 
ing the  remainder  of  the  "  talk,"  and  were  only 
recalled  by  the  sudden  consciousness  that  Hari- 
dass Goculdass's  musical  voice  had  ceased,  and 
her  sister  Maud  was  saying  softly,  "  These  meet- 
ings never  seem  complete  without  the  Sanscrit 
benediction." 

Then  every  one  stood,  while  Goculdass  repeated 
the  ancient  words  and  translated  them  :  "  Peace 
on  earth  !  Peace  in  the  creatures  of  the  earth  ! 
Peace  in  man  !  Peace  in  heaven  !  Peace  in  the 
Lord  !" 

"  Wasn't  it  lovely  ?"  inquired  Miss  Ayer  of 
Carl  Dering,  as  every  one  turned  to  his  or  her 
neighbor  to  seek  or  express  an  opinion. 

"It  was  all  very  interesting." replied  Carl,  "the 
audience  as  well  as  the  speaker." 


86 


"How  sympathetic  they  were!"  cried  the  girl. 
"I  think  Goculdass  must  have  felt  their  sympa- 
thy; he  was  so  frank,  so  outspoken — did  you  no- 
tice, mamma?" 

Mrs.  Ayer  turned  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  It 
was  wonderful,"  she  murmured.  "  I  could  follow 
such  a  leader  to  the  end  of  the  world." 

Her  emotion  disturbed  Carl;  he  attempted  to 
divert  her  by  a  change  of  theme.  "  I  think,  Mrs. 
Ayer,"  he  began,  cheerfully,  "  that  I  know  a  rela- 
tive of  yours,  Dick  Ayre ;  I  met  him  at  the  Ath- 
letic Club.  He  is  a  big,  broad-shouldered  fellow, 
plays  a  capital  game  of  tennis." 

"  He  is  my  son,"  replied  Mrs.  Ayre,  gravely. 
"He  is  still  living  for  the  physical.  I  hope  he 
may  get  some  light  as  he  goes  along." 

Carl  looked  and  felt  uncomfortable.  He  seemed 
somehow  to  be  sitting  in  judgment  on  Dick  Ayi-e 
in  the  latter's  absence  and  against  his  own  will. 
He  wondered  what  could  have  become  of  Hum- 
phrey, and  finally  spied  him  across  the  room  talk- 
ing with  a  small,  graceful  woman,  who  seemed 
very  much  interested  in  what  he  had  to  say. 

"Do  you  know  Mademoiselle  Duvray?"  asked 
Miss  Ayre,  whose  eyes  had  followed  his. 

"Is  that  she  with  Dr.  Humphrey?  No,  I  have 
not  had  the  pleasure." 

"  It  would  be  a  pleasure,"  returned  Miss  Ayre, 
warmly.  "She  is  the  dearest  woman  in  the 
world." 

"Have  you  known  her  long?" 


87 


"I  have  studied  with  her  all  winter.  You 
should  hear  her  talk  about  these  things !" 

"A  sort  of  Hypatia?" 

"  Hypatia  was — crude  beside  her." 

Once  started  on  the  subject  of  Mademoiselle 
Duvray,  Miss  Ayre  forgot  time,  place,  everything 
but  the  subject  in  hand.  Her  mother  moved 
away.  People  were  leaving.  Dr.  Humphrey  had 
started  to  cross  the  room,  but  was  stopped  half- 
way by  Uncle  Oliver,  who  was  spoiling  for  a 
fight.  ITariclass  Goculdass  had  been  surrounded  by 
a  bevy  of  women  who  beset  him  with  all  sorts  of 
questions.  Had  he  ever  seen  a  Mahatma  ?  Could 
he  levitate  ?  What  was  the  knob  for,  on  an  Ind- 
ian bracelet  which  its  owner  bought  at  the  Fair? 
Goculdass  seemed  to  be  aware  that  the  questions 
were  merely  excuses  for  an  interview,  and  an- 
swered them  carelessly ;  the  godlike  calm  which 
had  distinguished  his  entrance  again  settled  down 
upon  him,  rendering  him  impervious  even  to  the 
admiration  of  his  disciples. 

"What  do  you  think  of  him?"  asked  Carl,  as 
he  and  Humphrey  left  the  Rosses'  door. 

"I'd  like  to  secrete  some  of  his  passive  ener- 
gy," laughed  Humphrey,  "  to  tide  me  over  that 
tracheotomy  case  to-morrow." 

"How  do  you  suppose  he  does  it?" 

"  Born  so,  and  then  concentrated  what  he  had. 
I've  been  listening  to  some  entertaining  stories 
about  him." 

"  What  did  she  say  about  him  ?"  asked  Carl. 


"Oh,  all  sorts  of  things,"  replied  the  other, 
throwing  off  the  inquisitive  youngster  with  an 
assumption  of  indifference. 

Sensitive  Carl  shut  up  like  a  mimosa,  and  asked 
no  more  questions. 


XI 


MADEMOISELLE  DUVRAT'S  studio  was  in  the 
business  portion  of  the  city,  convenient  for  the 
women  who  dropped  in  before  or  after  their 
shopping,  but  her  "  home,"  as  she  called  it,  was 
in  the  most  fashionable  hotel  of  the  most  fash- 
ionable quarter.  She  had  been  in  Chicago  only 
two  years,  and  had  already  established  herself  as 
a  power  there.  Her  advent  had  been  timely  ; 
she  came  in  with  the  preparations  for  the  Fair, 
and  owed  her  success,  in  a  large  measure,  to  her 
familiarity  with  the  foreign  words  and  ways 
which  then  became  prominent.  As  Americans, 
there  is  little  of  importance  which  we  do  not 
know  ;  as  cosmopolitans,  we  are  uncertain  on 
some  points  which  have  not  been  brought  to  our 
notice  —  the  use  of  titles  is  one.  We  have  a 
mere  handful  of  our  own,  and  are  in  the  habit  of 
throwing  them  carelessly  about,  hitting  a  farmer 
with  "  Squire  "  and  a  trader  with  "  Colonel,"  and 
making  our  political  leaders  "  Honorable "  in 
spite  of  themselves.  The  accui'ate  European  aim 
which  never  sends  a  missile  of  this  sort  at  the 
wrong  head  has  not  been  practised  here  ;  so,  when 
a  woman  appeared  as  skilful  with  these  signifi- 


90 


cant  syllables  as  a  juggler  with  his  balls,  never 
letting  one  go  astray,  she  found  a  profession 
ready-made  for  her.  Just  then  she  needed  en- 
couragement. The  visit  to  Beau  Lieu  had  been 
an  impulsive  one,  born  of  a  desire  to  seek  out  the 
spot  where  from  a  dreaming  girl  she  had  become 
a  woman  with  a  purpose.  It  was  a  part  of  Mar- 
guerite's philosophy  to  respect  such  desires.  Dis- 
appointing as  the  experience  had  been,  she  still 
insisted  that  it  was  to  teach  her  something — self- 
reliance,  if  no  more.  If  one  is  bound  to  believe, 
there  are  no  obstacles,  there  is  nothing  which  can- 
not be  explained  in  accordance  with  one's  belief. 

The  principal  danger  with  those  who  ai'e  on 
the  lookout  for  lessons  to  learn,  is  that  they 
are  inclined  to  learn  too  much.  There  was  an  un- 
limited opportunity  for  Marguerite  to  learn  self- 
reliance,  and  she  learned  it,  unlimitedly. 

Her  pupils  and  friends  learned  the  obverse  of  the 
lesson,  depending  utterly  and  entirely  upon  their 
teacher  and  guide.  This  was  not  always  best  for 
them;  but  she  was  so  sympathetic,  so  strong,  so  full 
of  resource,  holding  fast  to  her  Idealism  with  one 
hand  while  with  the  other  she  accumulated  world- 
ly wisdom  as  fast  as  the  need  came,  that  her  be- 
lief in  herself  and  theirs  in  her  were  not  to  be 
wondered  at.  She  had  expected  something  quite 
different,  a  "  post  in  some  high,  lonely  tower,"  a 
period  of  seclusion,  a  solitary  preparation  for  the 
work  which  she  had  to  do  ;  she  planned  it  all  out 
the  night  she  left  Beau  Lieu,  lying  wide-awake 


91 


among  the  pillows,  while  her  cousin  and  com- 
panion, Mrs.  Burnham,  plunged  gayly  into  slum- 
ber on  the  hither  side  of  a  snore. 

Hardly  had  she  reached  Chicago,  however,  be- 
fore she  found  herself  a  committee  of  the  com- 
mittees, a  minister  of  the  ministers,  an  authority 
in  matters  of  decorum  and  etiquette.  If  she  met 
her  fate  half-way,  it  was  only  in  deference  to  the 
self-reliance  she  meant  to  learn. 

The  mission  was  a  pleasant  one,  and  led  to 
others  of  a  more  serious  character.  From  social 
problems,  she  passed  to  the  review  of  family 
skeletons  and  the  examination  of  family  sores,  and 
as  many  of  the  former  were  of  papier-mache,  and 
many  of  the  latter  but  skin-deep,  she  found  few 
instances  beyond  the  reach  of  her  philosophy. 

She  sat  by  the  bow-window  the  day  after  Hari- 
dass  Goculdass's  lecture,  pondering  what  she  had 
heard.  Much  that  he  had  said  was  familiar  to  her, 
but  she  had  never  carried  the  idea  of  self-develop- 
ment so  far.  It  was  an  exhilarating  thought  that 
in  herself  she  could  find  the  ultimate  truth,  the  un- 
limited power.  "I  am  He  !  I  am  He!  I  am  He!" 
The  exultant  words  throbbed  through  her  brain, 
and  her  sympathetic  pulses  answered  like  an  echo. 
So  absorbed  was  she  in  her  reverie  that  a  rap  at 
the  door  brought  a  positive  shock.  A  note  and  a 
card  were  handed  her.  She  broke  the  seal  of  the 
first  and  read  hurriedly,  a  smile  playing  about  her 
lips.  "Wait!"  she  said  to  the  boy,  and,  turning 
to  her  davenport,  wrote  a  few  words  on  a  card, 


92 


hastily  enclosing  it  in  an  envelope  and  addressing 
it.  "  See  that  this  goes  immediately  /"  she  ordered. 
The  boy  lingered. 

"The  other?"  he  asked,  respectfully. 

"  Oh,  yes,  tell  the  young  lady  she  may  come  up." 

Louise  Ayre  was  not  slow  in  making  her  appear- 
ance. She  came  in  flushed  and  elated. 

"  Your  eyes  are  as  blue  as  the  sky,  my  dear," 
said  Marguerite,  holding  out  both  hands. 

Louise  received  them  timidly.  She  stood  greatly 
in  awe  of  the  small  woman  before  her  ;  but  the 
importance  of  her  errand  gave  her  confidence. 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  she  began. 

"I  am  sure  of  that," cried  Marguerite,  with  her 
delicious  little  laugh.  She  led  the  girl  to  a  seat 
on  the  sofa  and  released  her  hands  with  a  gentle 
pressure,  herself  assuming  an  attentive  attitude. 

"I  have  just  had  a  long  talk  with  Dr.  Dering," 
pursued  Louise,  "  about  *  advanced  thought '  and 
all  those  things.  Of  course,  I  could  give  him  only 
a  hint  of  what  you  give  us,  and  he  is  just  wild  to 
see  you.  He  says  he  has  felt  for  a  long  time  the 
limitations  of  his  profession,  and  he  feels  sure  that 
the  question  of  mental  thera — thera — " 

"  Therapeutics,"  finished  Marguerite,  encourag- 

ingty- 

" Mental  therapeutics  is  the  coming  question" 
Louise  paused  and  drew  a  long  breath. 
"  I  would  do  anything,"  said  Marguerite,  ear- 
nestly, "  to  get  a  doctor  out  of  his  profession.     It 
is  missionary  work.     I  would  not  tell  every  one, 


93 


but  I  will  tell  yon  ;  you  have  no  idea  how  many 
doctors  are  thinking  of  those  things.  When  your 
card  was  brought  to  me,  a  note  came  with  it  fi-om 
a  prominent  physician  whom  you  know,  asking 
for  an  interview." 

Louise  drew  another  long  breath,  and  the  two 
women  gazed  at  each  other,  fixedly,  as  Clotho  and 
Lachesis  might  gaze  over  the  thread  they  manip- 
ulated. 

"  Will  you  see  Dr.  Dering  ?"  inquired  Louise, 
at  length. 

" Of  course,"  replied  Marguerite.  "Bring  him 
to  me." 

"He  is  down-stairs  now,"  exclaimed  Louise, 
springing  to  her  feet.  "Pie  came  over  with 
me." 

"Bring  him  right  up.  Stay,  I  will  ring  for  a 
boy." 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better  go  down  and  speak  to 
him." 

"Very  well." 

Louise  flew  down  the  long  corridor,  caught  the 
elevator  on  a  downward  trip,  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  time  found  Carl  sitting  tranquilly  in  the 
reception-room,  laughing  over  the  latest  number 
of  Life.  He  glanced  up  with  the  smile  still  over- 
spreading his  boyish  face.  "  There  are  some  aw- 
fully good  things  in  Life"  he  said,  holding  out 
the  paper.  "  Look  at  this."  But  Louise  put  it 
aside  as  a  mother  puts  aside  her  child's  playthings 
on  Sunday  morning. 


94 


" By-and-by,"  she  said,  firmly.  "Mademoiselle 
Duvray  will  see  you  now." 

"Now?"  repeated  Carl,  blushing. 

"  Yes,  now.  It  is  very  kind  of  her,  she  is  so 
full  of  engagements,  but  we  are  lucky  enough  to 
catch  her  at  a  moment  when  there  is  no  one  here. 
Come." 

Carl  went  wonderingly  down  the  hall,  in  the 
wake  of  Louise's  tall  figure.  While  they  waited 
at  the  elevator,  Louise  leaned  towards  him  confi- 
dentialty.  "I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  tell  you," 
she  whispered,  "  but  it  may  encourage  you  to 
know  that  you  are  not  the  only  physician  who  is 
looking  into  these  things.  There  is  another,  of 
high  standing  in  Chicago,  coming  to  see  her  this 
afternoon." 

Carl  straightened  himself  and  assumed  his  pro- 
fessional bearing,  dignified  yet  affable.  Louise 
glanced  approvingly  at  him  ;  he  seemed  several 
years  older  than  the  boy  whom  she  had  caught 
laughing  over  the  pictures  in  Life. 

Why  are  the  young  so  ashamed  of  youth,  and 
the  old  so  proud  of  any  vestige  of  it,  retained  in 
spite  of  themselves?  There  was  an  air  of  pre- 
cocity about  Marguerite  herself,  as  she  stood  in 
her  doorway  awaiting  them,  but  the  Sphinx  of 
Egypt,  with  the  riddle  of  the  centuries  hidden 
away  under  her  cap,  was  not  more  wise  and  in- 
scrutable. She  received  Carl  in  a  manner  be- 
fitting the  importance  he  had  hoped  to  grow  to 
iu  a  decade  or  so,  and  encouraged  him,  as  none 


ever  had  before,  to  utter  his  opinions  freely;  in- 
deed, the  flattering  attention  she  gave  him,  and 
the  gracious  nod  with  which  she  responded  at 
every  pause,  led  him  to  put  forth  other  opinions 
of  whose  existence  he  had  not  dreamed.  He  dis- 
covered that  he  had  been  searching  blindly  all  his 
life  for  these  inspiring  truths,  that  he  had  been 
filled  with  vague  cravings  which  nothing  would 
satisfy,  that  the  opportunities  for  usefulness  in 
his  profession  seemed  poor  and  meagre.  Made- 
moiselle Duvray,  on  her  part,  assured  him  that  he 
had  come  to  the  right  place,  she  could  put  him 
in  touch  with  those  who  would  recognize  his 
worth. 

"You  have  a  great  future  before  you,"  she 
said,  earnestly.  "  We  need  men  like  you,  men  of 
intellect  and  education,  men  who  are  practical  as 
well  as  thoughtful." 

The  trio  sat  hushed  and  silent  after  these 
words,  feeling  the  importance  of  the  moment; 
then  Mademoiselle  Duvray  rose  and  said  in  the 
tone  with  which  she  dismissed  her  classes,  "I  am 
sorry  to  send  you  away,  but  I  have  an  engage- 
ment. You  will  come  again  ?"  The  invitation 
was  made  a  request.  Carl  promised  and  went 
blindly  down  the  hall  after  Louise,  his  head  buzz- 
ing with  the  swarm  of  new  ideas  which  had  been 
let  loose  there. 

"Well,"  ejaculated  Louise,  turning  from  ring- 
ing the  elevator  bell,  "isn't  she  lovely?" 

"Yes,  she  is,"  granted  Carl. 


96 


"  I  never  saw  her  so  cordial  to  any  one  as  she  is 
to  you,"  continued  the  girl. 

The  boy  smiled  complacently. 

In  the  lower  hall  they  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 
man  entering  the  reception  -  room.  "  It's  Hum- 
phrey !"  ejaculated  Carl.  "  I  didn't  know  he  had 
a  patient  here.  It  must  be  a  new  one." 

"  I  don't  believe,"  said  Louise,  sagely,  "  that  I 
would  say  anything  to  him  about  this." 

"I  don't  mean  to,"  rejoined  Carl,  confidentially. 
Their  three  hours  together  had  put  them  on  a 
basis  of  thorough  good-fellowship.  They  felt  as 
if  they  had  been  friends  for  years. 


XII 

THE  intimacy  between  Carl  Dering  and  Louise 
Ayer  ripened  at  an  astonishing  rate.  When  a 
young  woman  is  assisting  a  young  man  in  the  de- 
velopment of  his  soul,  she  may  be  permitted  many 
things  which  might  be  considered  imprudent  and 
forward  under  other  circumstances. 

She  may  write  him  little  notes  inviting  him  to 
take  her  walking  in  order  that  they  may  talk 
without  interruption;  she  may  send  him  books 
with  passages  marked  for  his  perusal;  she  may 
encourage  him  to  tell  her  his  hopes  and  ambitions 
and  desires,  and  she  may  think  of  him  continually 
because  thought  itself  is  helpful.  Mademoiselle 
Duvray  also  invited  Carl  to  walk  with  her,  and 
held  long,  confidential  interviews  with  him,  and 
helped  him  by  her  thought.  He  seemed  lifted  in 
mid-air  by  these  sympathetic  spirits  whose  breadth 
of  pinion  offset  his  own  lack  of  wing -power. 
The  world  of  foolish  boys  and  girls,  of  careless 
men  and  women,  lay  far  below  his  feet,  and  the 
world  of  thought  spread  far  before  him,  inviting 
him  on. 

After  a  while  he  began  to  try  some  of  the  prac- 
tices of  this  thought-world  on  his  patients — he 


98 


had  been  taking  Dr.  Humphrey's  overflow  for 
a  year — but  discovered  with  some  dismay  that 
Physic  and  Metaphysic  do  not  always  make  the 
most  harmonious  of  yoke-fellows.  Especially  was 
this  true  in  the  case  of  old  Mrs.  Tremaine,  who 
bowed  down  before  the  Moloch  of  her  maladies  and 
offered  whatever  was  most  costly  and  most  dear. 
When  she  started  on  a  long  description  of  the 
symptoms  in  which  Moloch  revealed  himself,  the 
disciple  of  another  faith  made  light  of  these  reve- 
lations, and  sought  to  divert  her  from  their  in- 
fluence. She  turned  upon  him  a  look  of  wither- 
ing scorn.  "  Young  man,"  she  said,  her  indigna- 
tion vibrating  in  her  capstrings  and  in  the  feather 
on  her  bonnet,  "  If  you  don't  want  to  listen  to 
what  I  have  to  say,  I  will  find  a  doctor  who  does." 

Carl,  being,  as  it  were,  but  a  short  distance 
from  shore,  put  back  in  a  hurry  until  the  tempest 
was  over,  and  then  meekly  offered  her  the  biggest 
and  blackest  pills  he  had.  When  she  had  de- 
parted, still  agitated  but  victorious,  he  sat  down 
in  the  office  chair  and  meditated.  It  had  always 
seemed  a  part  of  the  business  of  his  profession  to 
sacrifice  to  Moloch  or  to  any  other  divinity  which 
it  might  suit  the  whims  of  his  clients  to  set  up  ; 
the  ceremony  was  really  a  part  of  the  cure ;  but 
in  the  gospel  according  to  Mademoiselle  Duvray 
such  practices  were  condemned.  They  were  said 
to  bring  ruin  on  those  who  indulged  in  them. 

Here  the  door  opened  softly,  and  pretty  Grace 
Merriam  entered.  Her  lovely  eyes  were  dim, 


9S) 


her  cheeks  bad  lost  their  roundness.  "Oh,  Dr. 
Dering,"  she  murmured,  sinking  into  a  chair,  "  I 
am  almost  dead.  Between  the  Fair  and  company 
and  papa's  being  so  blue  about  business,  I  am 
completely  exhausted  and  so  discouraged." 

The  pretty  eyes  filled  witb  tears. 

"I'll  try  it  on  her,"  thought  Carl.  He  took 
her  gently  by  the  hand  and  began  to  talk  of  a 
picture  at  the  art  gallery  which  he  knew  she 
would  like,  looking  fixedly  at  her  and  saying 
mentally,  "  Peace  !  Peace  !" 

Grace  began  to  revive,  and  withdrew  her  hand, 
but  the  young  metaphysician  kept  steadily  on 
with  his  soothing  words,  looking  straight  into  her 
eyes.  Presently  the  color  came  to  her  cheeks. 
"I  —  I  think  I  must  go,"  she  said,  bashfully. 
"I  feel  much  better,  thank  you.  Perhaps  all  I 
needed  was  to  sit  here  quietly  for  a  few  minutes." 

Carl  accompanied  her  to  the  door  and  watched 
her  down  the  hall,  following  her  with  an  absorbed 
gaze  until  she  waved  him  farewell  and  disappeared 
around  a  corner  ;  then  he  returned  with  a  light 
step.  Swinging  his  arms  jubilantly  to  and  fro, 
he  whispered,  "By  Jove  !  I'm  getting  on  to  it ! 
How  that  girl  changed  !  The  way  the  color  came 
into  her  face  was  simply  wonderful  !" 

He  glanced  at  the  office  clock  ;  only  four,  but  he 
Avas  quite  sure  that  no  one  would  be  in ;  he  must  go 
and  tell  Mademoiselle  Duvray  what  he  had  done. 
He  caught  up  his  cap  and  rushed  excitedly  over 
to  The  Cynthia.  Mademoiselle  was  at  home,  and 


100 


received  Lira  as  a  priestess  might  receive  a  neo- 
phyte. 

"I  knew  the  first  time  I  met  you  that  you 
were  an  advanced  soul,"  she  said  with  feeling. 
"I  never  saw  any  one  so  ready  for  this  line  of 
thought.  But  now  we  must  not  hold  you  back. 
You  are  ready  for  the  next  step ;  you  must  have 
regular  instruction.  I  must  pass  you  on  to  others 
who  can  teach  you  more  than  I." 

Carl  tried  to  recall  what  he  had  read  of  tests 
and  trials  by  the  Four  Elements  and  initiations  ; 
but  he  was  "  bound  to  see  the  thing  through,"  he 
told  himself. 

"I  am  thinking  where  I  shall  take  you,"  she 
mused.  "  I  have  a  friend  in  the  Enterprise  who 
gives  lessons ;  I  will  take  you  to  him." 

"Now?"  inquired  Carl. 

"  Yes,  if  you  are  ready." 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied,  bravely. 

Without  another  word,  she  put  on  her  hat  and 
conducted  him  to  the  place.  It  was  on  the  top 
floor  of  the  building,  in  a  corner  overlooking  the 
bay — a  large  room  with  three  windows.  There 
were  bookcases  in  it,  a  piano,  and  a  reading-desk, 
and  at  one  side  a  pile  of  folding  chairs.  A  tiny, 
blond  woman,  with  a  white,  determined  face,  met 
them.  Mademoiselle  Duvray  addressed  her  as 
Mrs.  Symonds,  and  inquired  for  "The  Doctor." 

"He  is  busy  just  now,"  said  Mrs.  Symonds, 
glancing  towards  a  screen  which  shut  off  one 
corner  of  the  room.  "  Come  in  here."  She  dis. 


101 


closed  a  door  behind  another  screen,  and  led 
them  through  it  into  a  small  room  arranged  like 
a  parlor. 

"This  is  Dr.  Dering,  of  whom  I  spoke,"  ex- 
plained Carl's  chaperon e.  "He  has  been  making 
remarkable  progress  by  himself.  He  had  an  'in- 
stantaneous demonstration '  this  afternoon,  but  he 
feels  that  he  needs  guidance.  I  thought  I  had 
better  bring  him  to  Dr.  Symonds." 

Mrs.  Symonds  sat  with  her  small  head  on  one 
side  like  a  meditative  canary,  scrutinizing  Cai'l. 

"  I  see  ;  quite  right,"  she  responded.  "  Dr. 
Symonds  has  a  patient  now,  but  I  can  make  an 
engagement  for  to-morrow.  The  young  man  can 
begin  his  lessons  then."  She  took  up  a  note-book 
and  turned  to  the  page  which  boi-e  the  date  of  the 
following  day. 

"  Come  at  three  to-morrow,"  she  said,  conclu- 
sively. "That  will  be  your  hour  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Carl,  politely.  Three 
o'clock  was  office  hour.  He  wished  that  he  might 
see  more  of  the  working  of  this  new  machine  be- 
fore he  relinquished  his  hold  on  the  old  one.  He 
would  have  given  all  he  had  in  his  pockets  for 
a  glance  behind  the  screen,  where  undoubtedly 
Dr.  Symonds  and  his  patient  were  even  now  sit- 
ting together.  Dr.  Symonds's  business-like  little 
wife  had  darted  away,  and  now  returned  with  a 
small  package.  "  Put  this  in  your  pocket,"  she 
directed,  and  Carl  obeyed.  Then  she  let  them 


102 


out  through  another  door  into  the  hall  with  a 
cheerful,  "Good-bye  until  to-morro\v." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  will  ever  regret  the  step 
you  have  taken,"  said  Marguerite,  kindly. 

The  trustfulness  with  which  Carl  had  followed 
her  would  have  touched  a  heart  more  secure  than 
hers  in  the  righteousness  of  its  methods.  "It  is 
magnificent  mental  training,  even  if  you  don't  do 
anything  in  particular  with  it,"  she  continued. 

Carl  became  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  disappoint- 
ment. Were  people  as  uncertain  on  this  plane  of 
thought  as  they  were  on  the  other  ?  She  read 
his  face — it  was  not  a  difficult  face  to  read — and 
quickly  changed  her  manner,  calling  his  attention 
to  the  carriage  and  gait  of  those  they  met,  and  giv- 
ing him  hints  how  to  read  the  manifestations  of  the 
unseen  in  the  seen.  At  the  door  of  The  Cynthia 
she  insisted  upon  bringing  him  in  with  her.  "  We 
will  have  dinner  d  deux  in  my  parlor,"  she  said. 
"Mrs.  Burnham  is  away  for  the  night." 

What  a  dinner  it  was,  ordered  with  a  presci- 
ence of  what  he  would  like,  served  in  the  dainti- 
est manner  possible,  and  sauced  with  clever  sto- 
ries and  amusing  descriptions  of  places  and  peo- 
ple !  She  was  wise  and  witty,  grave  and  tender, 
by  turns.  Carl  watched  and  listened  and  wor- 
shipped. The  air  was  full  of  the  incense  steam- 
ing up  from  the  pure  censer  of  his  boyish  soul. 

At  half-past  eight  she  dismissed  him,  rather 
suddenly,  he  thought,  and  before  he  left  her  door 
a  card  was  brought  to  her.  Ah,  well,  one  could 


103 


not  expect  to  keep  a  woman  like  that  to  one's 
self.  It  was  an  inestimable  favor  to  have  had 
her  so  long — four  whole  blessed  hours. 

A  hand  was  laid  somewhat  heavily  on  his 
shoulder.  "  Hullo,  Carl !"  cried  a  familiar  voice. 
"What  are  you  doing  here  ?"  It  was  Humphrey. 

"  What  are  you  doing?"  demanded  the  younger 
man,  rendered  self-confident  by  the  delicate  flat- 
tery of  Mademoiselle  Duvray's  attention. 

"I  don't  know  as  it  is  anything  to  you  what  I 
am  doing,"  returned  Humphrey,  flushing. 

"  I  might  say  the  same,"  retorted  Carl,  jauntily. 

He  passed  on,  uneasy  in  spite  of  his  bravado. 
The  afternoon  had  been  trying  to  his  nerves;  the 
interviews  with  Mrs.  Tremaine  and  Grace  Mer- 
riam,  and  the  talk  with  Mrs.  Symonds,  had  told 
upon  his  endurance.  The  bewildering  sweetness 
of  the  tete-a-tete  with  Mademoiselle  Duvray  had  an 
effect  no  less  exhausting  than  it  was  stimulating. 

Underneath  all  was  the  uneasy  consciousness 
that  he  was  undertaking  something  which  his 
chief  would  disapprove. 

But  Humphre3r  had  no  right  to  hinder  and  op- 
pose him  in  a  thing  of  this  sort — it  was  a  personal 
matter,  anyway.  To  be  sure,  if  he  gave  up  the 
afternoon  office  hour,  he  would  have  to  tell  Hum- 
phrey. This  was  a  scientific  investigation,  though, 
and  Humphrey  himself  was  ready  to  sacrifice 
anything  "in  the  interests  of  science."  He  had 
said  so,  many  times,  and  he  had  said  of  this  same 
psychical  research  that  "there  was  something 


104 


in  it."  Who  knew  but  that  Carl  himself  might 
be  on  the  verge  of  some  tremendous  discovery? 
Mademoiselle  Duvray  was  a  woman  of  experience, 
and  she  had  said  that  he  had  a  great  future  before 
him,  that  he  was  peculiarly  fitted  for  just  such 
work  as  this.  He  felt  the  truth  of  the  words. 
There  was  something  within  him  which  responded 
to  these  mysterious  influences  as  to  a  personal 
appeal. 

He  hurried  back  to  the  office  and  turned  on  the 
electric  light  to  examine  the  package  which  Mrs. 
Symonds  had  given  him.  Four  small  paper  books 
and  half  a  dozen  thin  blue  circulars  slipped  out 
when  he  untied  the  bundle.  The  books  were  va- 
riously named  "Faith,"  "Hope,"  "Charity,"  and 
"The  Miracles." 

Carl's  face  fell.  "Sermons,  as  I'm  alive,"  he 
ejaculated.  "  It's  nothing  but  some  sort  of  a  reli- 
gious business."  Then  he  took  up  the  circulars. 
They  proclaimed,  in  no  uncertain  terms,  that 
Dr.  Symonds  taught  at  the  rate  of  fifty  dollars 
a  term,  and  healed  at  the  rate  of  five  dollars  a 
"  treatment." 

"  Fifty  dollars,  by  Jupiter  !"  exclaimed  the 
disappointed  pupil.  "  If  they  think  I  am  going 
to  pay  fifty  dollars  for  a  lot  of  Sunday-school 
lessons  they  are  awfully  mistaken." 

But,  when  three  o'clock  of  the  following  after- 
noon arrived,  an  irresistible  desire  pulled  him  to 
the  Enterprise.  "  I  may  as  well  see  what  he  has 
to  say  for  himself,"  he  decided. 


105 


A  tall,  slight  man,  with  dark  side  whiskers, 
was  turning  down  the  passage  which  led  to  Dr. 
Symonds's  office  when  Carl  left  the  elevator. 

"  It  can't  be — by  Jove,  it  is  Humphrey  !  and 
he  is  going  to  that  place.  I'll  hide  in  this  corner 
until  he  comes  out." 

It  was  not  long  before  Humphrey  appeared 
with  a  roll  of  papers.  Carl  waited  until  he  had 
entered  the  elevator,  then  advanced  briskly. 

"He's  getting  it  on  the  sly  without  saying  a 
word  to  me,"  he  thought,  with  a  swelling  heart. 
"I'll  show  him  two  can  play  at  that  game."  He 
entered  Dr.  Symonds's  office  and  found  him  wait- 
ing. 


XIII 

IN  spite  of  Carl's  resolution  to  keep  his  move- 
ments from  the  knowledge  of  his  colleague,  he 
longed  to  talk  things  over  with  him  the  very  next 
morning.  He  sat  and  watched  the  back  of  Hum- 
phrey's head  through  the  open  door  of  the  inner 
office,  wishing  that  some  one  would  come  in  and 
make  him  turn  around  ;  but  no  one  came  in,  and 
Humphrey  did  not  turn  around  till  noon.  Then 
he  told  Carl  abruptly  that  he  himself  was  going 
off  for  the  remainder  of  the  day,  adding,  "You 
may  close  the  office  and  go,  too,  if  you  choose." 

Carl  welcomed  the  opportunity.  He  was  not 
due  at  Dr.  Symonds's  until  the  next  day.  Mean- 
while, he  felt  that  he  must  confide  in  some  one- 
He  telephoned  to  the  Lake  View  for  Eloise  to  ac. 
company  him  to  Jackson  Park.  It  would  be  bet- 
ter, on  the  whole,  to  open  his  heart  to  her,  and  he 
would  be  saved  from  breaking  his  half-promise 
to  Louise  Ayer.  But  Eloise  was  almost  as  diffi- 
cult to  reach  as  Humphrey  himself.  She  was  in  a 
freakish,  unreasonable  mood,  and  avoided  serious 
conversation.  Then,  when  he  took  refuge  in  his 
own  thoughts,  she  reproached  him  for  his  inat- 
tention. 


107 


"I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  you,"  she 
said,  petulantly.  "You  go  mooning  around  as  if 
you  had  lost  your  wits.  I  don't  believe  you  know 
where  you  are  at  this  minute." 

"  We  are  on  a  bench  under  a  tree  on  the 
Wooded  Island,"  returned  Carl,  tranquilly. 

"And  you  haven't  listened  to  a  word  I've  been 
saying,"  pursued  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  I  have.  You  were  talking  about  the 
Congress.  You  told  how  Millicent  Glenn  stood 
up  in  a  chair  and  called  out,  Tin  not  going  to 
clap  that  woman.  I  didn't  hear  a  single  word 
she  said.' " 

"  You  didn't  look  as  if  you  were  listening,"  re- 
turned Eloise,  only  half  mollified.  "I  do  enjoy 
talking  to  a  wooden  image." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?" 

"Look  interested,  if  you  don't  feel  so." 

"All  right,  go  on  ;  what  else  did  you  see  at  the 
Congress  ?" 

"  Women  who  want  Universal  Peace  escorted 
to  the  platform  by  policemen;  another  who  wants 
an  inconspicuous  dress  arrayed  in  yellow  gaiters 
and  a  sky-blue  tunic  ;  a  man  who  preaches  spir- 
itual development  looking  as  if  he  would  enjoy  a 
fifteen-course  dinner  and  an  American  cigar  more 
than  all  his  theories." 

Carl  became  wide  awake  at  once.  "  What  man 
do  you  mean  ?" 

"  That  Hindoo  with  an  unpronounceable  name." 

"Haridass  Goculdass?" 


108 


"Yes  ;  what  do  you  know  about  him?" 

"I  heard  him  speak  at  the  Rosses',  the  other 
day,  and  I  tell  you,  Eloise,  he's  great!" 

"  How  is  he  great  ?"  asked  Eloise,  with  her 
delicate  nose  in  the  air. 

"  He  has  more  magnetism  than  any  one  I  ever 
saw  ;  and  he  is  logical,  too.  You  ought  to  have 
heard  him  lay  out  us  Americans  for  our  scramble 
after  the  Almighty  Dollar." 

"  Did  he  pass  the  hat,  then  ?"  inquired  the 
cynical  Eloise. 

"No,  he  didn't ;  he  doesn't  even  charge  admit- 
tance to  his  lectures  ;  he  doesn't  think  of  such 
things.  And  you  ought  to  have  seen  his  audi- 
ence !  He  had  those  people  right  in  his  hand." 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  replied  Eloise,  mockingly. 
"They  are  always  right  in  somebody's  hand." 

"  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  you," 
retorted  her  cousin,  warmly.  "  You  have  changed 
ever  since  that  summer  at  Beau  Lieu,  and  you 
keep  growing  harder  and  harder  —  no,  I  don't 
mean  that,"  as  she  turned  a  pair  of  reproachful 
hazel  eyes  upon  him,  "  but  you're  not  the  girl  you 
used  to  be." 

"I  hope  not,"  she  answered,  positively,  adding 
with  sudden  gentleness,  "I  am  afraid  I  haven't 
much  faith  ;  I  have  only  works.  Do  you  suppose 
works  without  faith  are  dead  as  well  as  faith 
without  works?  Does  each  need  the  other  to 
keep  it  alive  ?" 

"But  you  are  so  mistaken  about  these   peo- 


109 


pie,"  continued  Carl,  disregarding  her  confession. 
"  You  think  they  are  just  silly,  fashionable  wom- 
en, but  they  are  not ;  they  are  earnest,  lovely, 
sincere — " 

"  I  teach  some  of  them,"  said  Eloise,  shortly. 

"Yes,  and  you  won't  let  any  of  them  show  her 
best.  I've  heard  them  complain  of  your  reserve, 
and  of  how  impossible  it  is  to  break  through  it." 

"If  they  did  succeed  in  breaking  through  it, 
that  would  be  the  last  of  me,"  said  Eloise,  fiercely. 

"I  wish  you  could  see  Mademoiselle  Duvray," 
persisted  Carl.  "  You  couldn't  help  believing  in 
her." 

"I  know  all  about  Mademoiselle  Duvray,"  re- 
plied Eloise,  stiffly.  "  She  was  at  Beau  Lieu  the 
first  summer  I  was  there." 

"Did  you  ever  talk  with  her?" 

"No,  I  never  did.     I  could  if  I  had  chosen." 

"  Well,  then,  how  could  you  know  about  her?" 

"  It  was  enough  to  see  the  girls  dangling  after 
her  wherever  she  went.  I  hate  that  sort  of  woman." 

Carl  stared,  but  felt  quite  sure  that  Eloise  only 
needed  to  know  the  facts  in  order  to  be  con- 
vinced, and,  man-like,  was  ready  to  present  them 
to  her. 

"She  is  immensety  popular,  abroad  as  well  as 
here.  They  say  she  is  entertained  by  the  nobility 
over  there." 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  have  heard  the  whole  story  many 
times,"  returned  Eloise,  irritably.  "  She  teaches 
'court  etiquette,'  and  there  is  no  place  in  America 


110 


where  there  is  such  a  demand  for  '  court  etiquette ' 
as  in  Chicago.  People  here  are  not  satisfied  with 
being  well-bred  men  and  women  ;  they  must  as- 
sume the  air  and  gait  of  lords  and  ladies,  with 
gorgeous  clothes,  elegant  carriages,  and  lackeys 
in  livery.  Of  course  Mademoiselle  Duvray  is  '  im- 
mensely popular !' " 

Carl  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair.  He  hast- 
ened to  change  the  subject.  "  Dr.  Humphrey  had 
a  letter  from  Mrs.  Harwood  the  other  day,"  he 
began,  courteously.  "  She  says  she  is  quite  well, 
and  is  going  to  make  up  for  not  going  to  the  Fair 
by  hearing  Miss  Gordon  lecture  at  Beau  Lieu." 

"  Really  ?" 

"  Yes,  really.  Eloise,  you  are  lots  prettier  when 
you  smile." 

"  I  wonder  how  she  is  going  to  get  to  Beau 
Lieu  !" 

"  Going  to  take  boarders." 

"  That  will  be  just  the  place  for  Mrs.  Glenn  and 
the  children  ;  they  want  to  go.  Oh,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  get  away  !" 

"Queer  how  we  can  relish  getting  back  into  a 
broil  after  being  out  of  it,"  laughed  Carl. 

"  It  all  depends  upon  the  sequence,"  returned 
Eloise,  quickly.  "After  the  fire,  the  frying-pan 
becomes  actually  endurable.  Carl,  I'm  cross  !" 

"No,  you're  not,"  cried  Carl,  chivalrously. 
"Everything  gets  to  be  a  bore  when  you're  tired, 
even  the  Fair." 

Many  felt   what  Carl   expressed.      The   early 


Ill 


glory  of  the  Fair  had  tarnished,  the  bugles  had  a 
labored  sound,  and  the  tired  men  and  women  on 
the  coaches  played  their  hilarious  parts  with  an 
effort.  The  opening  gush  of  hospitality  with 
which  Chicago  welcomed  her  guests  had  yielded 
to  a  fear  that  "  the  thing  was  not  going  to  pay, 
after  all."  The  dukes  and  duchesses,  and  the 
lords  and  ladies  were  leaving,  driven  before  the 
first  hot  wave.  In  their  places  came  Sunday- 
school  children  bringing  their  own  luncheon,  and 
farmer-folk,  spending  as  little  as  possible  over  and 
above  mere  necessities.  The  action  of  the  great 
drama  certainly  lagged.  The  two  cousins  wan- 
dered dispiritedly  about,  and  started  for  the  hotel 
while  the  sun  was  yet  some  distance  from  the 
horizon.  Outside  the  gates  the  pretentious  brass 
bands  had  ceased  to  play,  and  in  their  stead  the 
mechanical  piano  blossomed  into  insistent  chords 
and  interminable  trills  on  every  corner,  ripening 
into  an  explosive  bang  which  seemed  to  say,  "  On 
time,  you  see  !  We  get  there,  you  bet !"  It  was 
the  very  slang  of  music,  the  spirit  of  "  hustle  "  in 
a  sound. 

"  Let's  get  out  of  this  !"  exclaimed  Carl,  taking 
Eloise  by  the  arm.  They  almost  ran  until  they 
were  beyond  reach  of  the  racket,  and  pulled  up  in 
front  of  the  hotel,  quite  out  of  breath. 

"  Come  in  to  dinner,  Carl,"  said  Eloise,  hospi- 
tably. 

"  Can't  do  it,  thank  you,"  and  he  turned  away. 
Then  she  saw  the  wistful  look  upon  his  face. 


112 


"  Carl !"  she  called  after  him.  He  returned 
with  a  smile.  "  Is  there  anything  the  matter — a 
love  affair,  or  a  dun  ?" 

"Neither,  thank  you."  He  lifted  his  hat,  still 
smiling,  and  then  walked  away  again. 

"  I  am  sure  there  was  something,"  mused  Eloise. 
"  What  can  it  be  ?" 

Aunt  Harriet  was  awaiting  her  impatiently  in 
the  studio.  "My  dear,"  she  said,  impressively, 
following  Eloise  into  her  bedroom,  "  the  house  is 
filling  with  the  most  extraordinary  people.  All  the 
nice  people  are  going  away.  Mrs.  Glenn  told  me 
this  afternoon  that  she  should  keep  her  room  here- 
after except  at  meal-time." 

"I  suppose  so,"  answered  Eloise,  lifting  her 
face,  dripping  and  rosy,  from  the  wash-bowl. 

"Mrs.  Shipman  says  they  have  put  a  man  at 
their  table  who  eats  with  his  knife." 

"  Shocking !"  cried  Eloise,  smoothing  her  hair 
before  the  glass.  "  Come  on,  dear." 

She  found  the  rotunda  gay  and  noisy  with  the 
new  guests,  to  whom  the  sojourn  at  the  hotel 
seemed  an  important  part  of  the  visit  to  the 
Fair. 

Something  unusual  seemed  going  on  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room.  Eloise  stood  on  tiptoe  to  see 
what  it  was,  then  pulled  Aunt  Harriet  by  the 
sleeve,  whispering,  "  Look,  look  !  the  Glenn  chil- 
dren !"  Down  the  rotunda,  between  the  rows  of 
men,  women,  and  children,  who  parted  to  let  them 
pass,  marched  the  young  Glenns,  nine-year-old 


113 


Milton  bearing  a  pole,  on  which  was  tacked  a 
placard  announcing,  ''PEEP  SHOW,  OXE  SENT," 
while  golden-haired  Millicent,  confidently  follow- 
ing the  lead  of  her  older  brother,  carried  proudly 
the  "  Show,"  a  cigar-box  with  a  picture  inside,  and 
a  calico  curtain  across  the  front.  William  Pleas- 
ant had  arranged  it  for  her.  Having  made  the 
round  of  the  rotunda,  they  set  up  business  in  the 
reading-room,  planting  the  standard  in  the  painted 
tub  of  a  huge  palm. 

Aunt  Harriet  hurried  to  the  rescue  of  respect- 
ability. "My  dears,  my  dears,"  she  murmured, 
warningly,  "  you  must  go  right  up-stairs  to  your 
mother." 

"  Who  said  so  ?"  asked  Milton,  not  disrespect- 
fully, but  for  information. 

"  I  say  so,"  replied  Aunt  Harriet,  authorita- 
tively. 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  demanded  Milton,  while  Mil- 
licent hid  behind  the  palm  and  awaited  develop- 
ments. 

"  May  I  look  in?"  inquired  Eloise,  strategically. 
"Here  is  my  penny.  Oh,  I  have  a  much  prettier 
picture  up-stairs.  Come  with  me  and  I'll  give  it 
to  you." 

"That  will  do  for  to-morrow,"  replied  the  show- 
man, promptly,  "  after  they've  seen  this." 

"  Milton  Howard  Glenn!'1'1  broke  in  an  agitated 
voice;  "you  and  Millicent  go  right  up  to  my 
room  !"  Poor  Mrs.  Glenn  !  she  was  red  with  shame 
and  vexation. 


114 


"Don't  mind,"  whispered  Eloise ;  "every  one 
will  understand." 

"Another  dream  of  commercial  prosperity 
gone,"  put  in  a  friendly  voice ;  it  was  Philip 
More's.  "I  thought  I  would  run  up  and  help 
you  get  ready  for  Beau  Lieu,"  he  explained. 
"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Glenn.  Don't  punish  the 
youngsters  ;  it  is  too  good  a  joke."  He  stood  and 
talked  with  the  three  women  while  the  culprits 
escaped.  "  He's  a  brick,  that  feller,"  said  Milton 
to  his  confederate,  as  they  made  off  with  the 
Show. 

"  You're  right,"  lisped  Millicent.  "  I'll  be  his 
friend  jus'  as  long's  I  live." 


XIV 

THE  September  sun  reddened  the  tops  of  the 
trees  and  the  clustering  roofs  below  the  window 
where  Mrs.  Glenn  sat  with  her  sewing.  Every 
now  and  then  Milton  or  Millicent  ran  in  from  the 
hall  where  they  were  playing  to  ask  what  time 
it  was. 

"I'll  let  you  know  in  season,  so  that  you  can  be 
down  there,"  said  their  mother.  "  Come  in,  Mrs. 
Shipman,"  as  that  lady  appeared  in  the  doorway. 
"Take  this  chair  ;  it  is  more  comfortable." 

"  I'd  rather  sit  by  the  window,"  replied  the  vis- 
itor, leaning  forward  to  look  out  and  down.  "  My, 
but  you're  high  up,  here." 

"  I  like  to  be  above  the  noise,"  said  Mrs.  Glenn. 
"  No,  Milton  ;  I  told  you  I  would  let  you  know 
when  it  was  time." 

Milton  collided  with  Millicent,  who  was  close 
behind  him.  "She'll  let  us  know!"  he  shouted, 
and  away  they  went. 

"Are  you  expecting  company?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Shipman. 

"Miss  Gordon  and  her  aunt  return  this  after- 
noon," replied  Mrs.  Glenn.  "My  children  are 
very  fond  of  Miss  Gordon." 


11G 


Mrs.  Shopman's  eyes  sparkled.  "Is  Miss  Gor- 
don's fiance  with  them  ?"  she  inquired. 

"Miss  Gordon's  fiance?'  Mrs.  Glenn  repeated, 
warily. 

"  Mr.  More.  I  hear  they're  engaged.  Of  course, 
we've  been  expecting  it." 

"I  suppose  he  is  with  them,"  granted  Mrs. 
Glenn. 

"I  hear  he's  very  wealthy,  and  has  no  near  re- 
lations," buzzed  the  visitor.  "  She's  mighty  lucky. 
My  niece,  who  was  married  the  other  day,  got  a 
moneyed  man,  but  there  are  a  thousand,  more  or 
less,  to  hang  on  him  and  take  it  all.  Miss  Larra- 
bee  will  be  right  on  tiptoe." 

There  was  a  pause,  during  which  both  women 
scanned  the  street. 

"The  train's  late,"  vouchsafed  Mrs.  Shipman. 
"She  may  not  be  here  for  an  hour  yet." 

"  God  forbid  !"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Glenn  within 
herself,  not  outwardly.  Outwardly  she  smiled 
and  said,  "That  is  very  pretty  lace  you  are  cro- 
cheting!" 

"  Isn't  it !  I  got  the  pattern  from  Miss  Brown. 
Were  you  down  in  the  parlor  when  she  was  recit- 
ing, the  other  evening?  You  ought  to  have  been 
there.  I  thought  I  should  die.  She  recited  one 
of  those  swearing  Bret  Harte  things,  and  a  speech 
by  a  drunken  orator.  They  were  altogether  too 
good.  That  Englishwoman  with  the  four  girls 
took  them  out  in  the  midst  of  the  first  piece,  and 
then  Mrs.  Colocynth  followed  with  Corinne.  The 


117 


Princess  and  I  sat  it  out,  though.  The  Princess 
thought  it  was  great  fun." 

"She  seems  very  happy  here,"  said  Mrs.  Glenn, 
with  another  glance  out  the  window. 

"  She  is.  She  enjoys  everything  except  the 
hops.  She  goes  down  in  all  her  finery,  and  not  a 
man  asks  her  to  dance.  She  said  to  me  the  other 
evening,  '  I  will  spik  to  my  Poll  (his  name  is  Paul), 
and  he  will  spik  to  the  landlord,  to  get  me  part- 
ners. My  Poll  pays  as  much  as  any  one.  I  will 
not  sit  here  like  a  what-do-you-say — wall-flower.'' " 

Another  pause  ensued,  broken  by  Mrs.  Glenn, 
who  inquired,  "  How  is  Mrs.  Johnson — do  you 
know  ?" 

"Better,"  replied  Mrs.  Shipman,  promptly. 
"She's  trying  Mental  Science  now,  and  thinks 
she  is  getting  help.  She  sleeps  and  eats,  and  is 
going  to  sit  up  in  a  few  days.  By-the-way,  they 
say  that  young  Dr.  Dering,  Miss  Larrabee's  neph- 
ew, the  one  that  used  to  come  to  dinner  Sunday 
nights,  has  gone  into  Mental  Science  head  over 
heels — did  you  hear  anything  about  it  ?" 

"  I  heard  something,"  replied  Mrs.  Glenn,  guard- 
edly, "  but  I  don't  know  how  true  it  is." 

"  I  heard  that  he  tried  to  put  old  "Mrs.  Tremaine 
to  sleep,  and  the  old  lady  opened  on  him.  They 
say  he  practises  on  all  the  girls,  and  each  one 
thought  he  was  in  love  with  her  until  they  got  to- 
gether and  compared  notes.  But  that  was  along 
back  some  weeks  ago,  before  he  left  Dr.  Hum- 
phrey's office." 


118 


"  Has  he  left  Dr.  Humphrey?"  cried  Mrs.  Glenn, 
completely  off  her  guard. 

"  Didn't  you  know  that?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ship- 
man,  triumphantly.  "  That's  old.  He  and  Dr. 
Humphrey  had  a  tremendous  row,  and  Dr.  Hum- 
phrey ordered  him  to  leave.  They've  both  of  them 
got  quick  tempers.  Dr.  Humphrey's  taken  in  a 
son  of  old  Dr.  Jones  in  Dering's  place.  I  don't 
know  what  Dering's  going  to  do.  Perhaps  he'll 
start  out  as  a  'healer'  himself.  They  make 
a  lot  of  money.  I  was  in  a  house  in  this  city, 
Monday,  when  one  thousand  dollars  walked  out  to 
a  healer,  and  my  own  sister  paid  four  hundred. 
There  they  are  now.  Yes,  there's  Mr.  More.  He 
helps  Miss  Larrabee  out  as  if  she  was  made  of 
china." 

"  Run,  children,  the  carriage  is  here,"  inter- 
rupted Mrs.  Glenn,  opening  the  door. 

"  Oh,  mamma  ! — you — promised — "  floated  back 
from  the  hall.  "Quick,  elevator,  down!" 

"Miss  Gordon  looks  well.  Being  engaged 
agrees  with  her,"  pursued  the  visitor,  enjoying  to 
the  full  the  prospect  for  which  she  had  come. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  about  the  children,"  pouted  Mrs. 
Glenn. 

"Do  you  know  when  they  are  going  to  be  mar- 
ried?" continued  the  relentless  inquisitor.  "I 
presumed  you  might  have  heard.  Miss  Larrabee's 
so  confidential,  you  probably  will  hear  all  about 
it." 

"He's  come  !     He's  come  !" sounded  jubilantly 


119 


from  the  ball.  The  door  flew  open,  revealing 
Philip  with  Milton  and  Millicent  clinging  each 
to  an  arm. 

"  I  am  afraid  they  are  dreadful  bores,"  apolo- 
gized their  mother.  "  Mr.  More,  Mrs.  Shipman," 
and  Mrs.  Shipman  obtained  a  long-coveted  op- 
portunity, described  afterwards  to  her  latest  inti- 
mate friend,  "There  she  had  been  telling  me 
that  it  was  Miss  Gordon  the  children  went  to 
see.  She  knew  all  the  time  it  was  Mr.  More. 
She's  deep  ;  these  soft-spoken  women  always  are. 
Needn't  tell  me.  I  caught  her  good,  and  she 
knew  it,  too  ;  colored  up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 
She's  been  setting  them  on  —  pretending  not  to 
know  how  much  money  he  had!" 

Philip  lingered  but  an  instant,  and  then  hurried 
away  to  dress  for  dinner.  Mrs.  Shipman  soon 
made  her  adieus,  and  the  children  came  in  to 
have  their  hands  and  faces  washed. 

"  Look  a-here  !"  called  Milton,  putting  his  hand 
into  his  pocket.  "An  eight-blader,  scissors  and 
everything." 

"And  see  this,  too,  mamma — a  little  gold  heart 
on  a  chain,"  added  Millicent. 

"  He  said  I  was  his  best  friend  once,"  said 
Milton. 

"  Now,  Millie,  lie  said  I  was,  too." 

"  That  was  because  you  asked  him." 

"  Well,  he  said  I  was,  anyway." 

"  And  he  said  next  year  we  should  go  up  to 
Beau  Lieu,  and  stay  just  as  long  as  you'd  let  us." 


120 


"  And  he  said  we'd  have  another  boat  to  beat 
that  one  that  went  to  pieces  the  day  him  and  me 
was  out." 

"  I'd  say  lie  and  I  were  out,"  corrected  his 
mother. 

"  He  and  I  was  out,"  repeated  Milton,  hurried- 
ly. "  That's  why  I'm  his  best  friend,  isn't  it, 
mamma,  because  we  was  out  in  that  storm  to- 
gether. Millicent  wasn't  out  in  the  storm." 

"But  I  was  down  on  the  rocks  with  Miss  Gor- 
don, and  she  held  on  to  my  hand  just  as  tight. 
She'd  have  been  awful  lonesome  if  I  hadn't  been 
there,  she  said  so,  'cause  Miss  Larrabee  was 
asleep  up  at  the  cottage." 

"  Well,  you  can  be  Miss  Gordon's  best  friend 
and  I'll  be  Mr.  More's." 

"  I'm  Mr.  More's,  too,"  wailed  Millicent,  "  ain't 
I,  mamma?" 

"  Hush  !  children ;  stop  your  quarrelling  this  in- 
stant, or  I  won't  let  you  take  these  roses  to  Miss 
Gordon." 

"  Well,  any  way,  Mrs.  Harwood  said  us  children 
made  the  match  between  Miss  Gordon  and  Mr. 
More,"  finished  Milton,  importantly. 

"  Whom  did  she  say  that  to  ?"  inquired  his 
mother,  her  curiosity  getting  the  better  of  her. 

"To  Dan'l,"  replied  Milton,  promptly. 

"  Milton  !"  exclaimed  his  mother,  severely,  aton- 
ing for  momentary  weakness  by  renewed  strin- 
gency, "  you  must  never  call  an  old  man  like  Mr. 
Harwood  by  his  first  name." 


121 


"  Every  one  else  does,"  returned  Milton,  sheep- 
ishly. A  light  step  outside  the  door  and  a  quick 
little  tap  put  an  end  to  the  discussion. 

It  was  Eloise.  "  My  dear,  my  dear,"  cooed 
the  elder  woman,  embracing  her. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Glenn,  I  am  glad  to  be  with  you 
once  more,"  responded  Eloise. 

There  was  a  high  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  a 
bright  light  in  her  eyes.  She  carried  her  proud 
head  higher  than  ever,  and  moved  more  quickly. 
If  she  evaded  Mrs.  Glenn's  sentimental  sugges- 
tions, this  Avas  only  natural  in  one  of  her  sensi- 
tive temperament,  so  Mrs.  Glenn  told  herself. 
Yet  it  was  with  a  sigh  that  she  submitted  to 
having  one  of  Eloise's  roses  put  in  her  hair,  and 
listened  to  the  elusive  chatter  with  which  the 
girl  filled  every  pause.  Aunt  Harriet  and  Philip 
were  waiting  for  them  in  the  rotunda,  and  they 
all  went  in  together. 

"  Quite  like  a  wedding-party,"  Mrs.  Shipman 
whispered  to  her  husband,  "  only  the  children 
ought  to  go  ahead  instead  of  behind,  and  scatter 
those  roses  which  the  bride  is  wearing.  I  sup- 
pose he  gave  them  to  her." 

"  He  looks  like  a  square  sort  of  chap,"  com- 
mented Mr.  Shipman. 

"  He  is,"  replied  his  wife.  "  That  girl  may 
thank  her  lucky  stars.  I  wonder  if  she'll  keep 
on  painting,  or  go  right  to  getting  ready." 

This  was  what  every  one  wondered  while  the 
weeks  passed  leaving  Eloise  still  at  her  easel, 


122 


showing  no  sign  of  her  engagement  save  the 
brilliant  jewel  upon  her  finger.  She  worked  with 
feverish  restlessness,  as  if  the  future  held  no  more 
than  the  pecuniary  success  which  present  needs  de- 
manded. 

"What  is  it  that  you  want?"  Philip  would 
ask,  when  he  came  upon  his  periodical  visits  and 
found  her  with  the  same  questioning  look  upon 
her  face.  "  What  can  I  get  for  you  ?  What  can 
I  do?" 

"  Nothing,  Philip,"  Eloise  would  answer.  "  You 
do  everything — much  more  than  I  deserve  !" 

"  Don't  talk  about  desert !"  Philip  would  ex- 
claim, making  an  impatient  gesture.  "  Don't  I 
love  you?  All  I  ask  is  to  see  you  happy."  In- 
stead of  doing  this,  he  disturbed  his  own  con- 
tent, and  went  away  with  an  unsatisfied  look 
which  was  the  reflection  of  her  own. 

"  What  is  it,  Eloise — aren't  you  happy?"  Aunt 
Harriet  would  ask,  fluttering  around  her  niece 
with  the  offer  of  her  whole  helpless  personality. 

"  Of  course,"  Eloise  would  rejoin.  "  Haven't 
I  everything  to  make  me  so  ;  a  dozen  fresh  or- 
ders, a  full  class  of  scholars,  health,  ambition — " 

"  And  Philip,"  timidly  supplemented  Aunt  Har- 
riet. 

"  Oh  yes,"  returned  Eloise,  carelessly.  "  And 
Philip,  and  you,"  she  finished  with  one  of  her 
old,  bright  looks. 


XV 

IT  was  hard  for  the  Chicagoans  to  give  up  their 
White  City.  They  made  all  sorts  of  impossible 
plans  for  keeping  it  through  the  winter,  if  not 
permanently :  they  detached  special  police  to  take 
the  place  of  the  Columbian  Guards,  they  wrapped 
up  the  figures  within  reach,  and  boarded  over  the 
weak  places  ;  but  every  day  the  vision  faded, 
every  day  some  fragment  fell,  some  bright  wall 
clouded.  It  had  always  been  incongruous  in  its 
beauty  for  beauty's  sake,  set  among  the  tall,  ugly 
buildings  made  to  sell  or  rent,  to  do  business  in, 
to  plot  and  plan  in  against  poverty  and  disgrace, 
to  be  wretched  and  despairing  in,  and  to  make  as 
much  money  in  as  possible. 

They  were  beginning  to  crowd  it,  now  ;  their 
puffing  smoke  blew  offensively  over  its  fair  sur- 
faces, where  decay  had  already  laid  its  finger  as 
if  saying,  "  Look  here,  and  here  ;  these  proud 
structures  are  not  immortal,  after  all !" 

Still,  there  was  a  fascination  about  the  place 
which  drew  throngs  of  visitors  to  it  on  every 
pleasant  day.  They  came  in  carriages  and  drove 
slowly  about,  they  came  afoot,  and  lingered  in 
the  sheltered  corners  where  the  sun  shone  warm. 


124 


It  bad  become  a  babit  to  "go  to  Jackson  Park" 
whenever  tbere  was  a  holiday. 

Following  the  universal  custom,  Philip  and 
Eloise  and  Aunt  Harriet  celebrated  Philip's  mid- 
winter visit  by  driving  thither  in  an  open  car- 
riage. It  was  a  glorious  day.  Only  the  bits  of 
ice  in  the  lake  told  that  its  brilliant  tint  was  not 
the  blue  of  summer.  No  snow  had  fallen,  and 
the  roads  were  hard  as  floors.  The  carriage  rolled 
gayly  along  until  they  reached  a  central  point, 
and  then  Philip  called  a  halt.  The  walls  yet 
standing  showed  no  lessening  dignity,  in  spite 
of  the  debris  at  their  feet,  but  towered  above  it 
with  the  everlasting,  imperial  challenge  of  art. 

"It's  an  awful  shame,"  said  Philip,  cheerfully. 
"  Got  enough,  Eloise  ?" 

She  nodded,  then  quickly  turned  her  head,  that 
he  might  not  see  the  tears  which  filled  her  eyes. 
The  struggle  of  the  ideal  with  the  real,  of  ro- 
mance with  reality,  of  art  with  the  nature  of 
things,  brought  emotions  which  choked  and  stifled 
her,  emotions  of  sympathy  and  companionship. 
She  longed  to  stretch  out  her  hands  to  the  beauti- 
ful, transitory  things  and  cry,  "I,  too,  am  of  your 
kind!  I,  too,  struggle  and  suffer  and  aspire!  I, 
too,  defy  that  which  I  know  is  doomed  to  over- 
power me  !" 

"Don't  the  animals  look  funny,  all  done  up  so? 
There  is  a  reindeer,  his  horns  stick  through  the 
sacking,"  laughed  Aunt  Harriet,  gleeful  as  a 
child.  Her  pink  little  nose  protruded  from  her 


wraps  like  a  crocus  in  the  snow,  and  her  innocent 
eyes  roved  in  all  directions,  noting  everything. 
Philip  had  taken  such  pains  that  the  carriage 
should  be  easy  and  the  robes  plentiful ;  and  he 
had  such  a  nice  way  of  tucking  her  in  and  ask- 
ing, "All  right,  Aunt  Harriet?" 

Eloise  hardly  spoke.  Her  silence  troubled 
Philip  ;  he  made  clumsy,  good-humored  attempts 
to  break  through  it  and  bring  her  out,  "enjoying 
life  "  with  himself  and  Aunt  Harriet.  Eloise  was 
beginning  to  see  that  she  had  given  him  a  right  to 
do  this.  When  she  accepted  him  she  expected 
and  intended  to  go  on  living  two  lives:  one  out- 
wardly, a  part  of  the  present  world,  the  other  in- 
wardly, a  part  of  the  world  of  art  which  ever  has 
been  and  ever  shall  be.  Of  course,  Philip,  who 
cared  nothing  for  art,  was  to  inhabit  the  outside 
world. 

But  if  Philip  did  not  care  for  art,  he  cared  for 
Eloise  and  for  all  that  concerned  her.  Into  the 
penetralia  of  her  hopes  and  joys  he  pursued  her 
with  the  mistaken  zeal  of  a  lover,  and  professed 
his  unbounded  interest  in  everything  there.  At 
first  she  tried  to  be  generous,  and  to  tell  him  how 
she  felt,  but  to  her  horror  she  found  that  she  lost 
her  fine  fervors  as  soon  as  she  described  them. 
It  was  of  no  use,  she  told  herself.  She,  too,  must 
give  up  the  White  City  of  her  dreams.  "  Noth- 
ing lasts  which  is  beautiful,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"Only  the  ugly  and  commonplace  endure." 

"  Let's  go  down  Midway  !"  exclaimed  Philip. 


126 


"Shall  we  go  down  Midway,  Eloise?"  and  re- 
membering how  many  times  she  had  lightened  a 
heavy  heart  of  its  burden  on  the  merry  street, 
Eloise  answered,  quickly,  "Yes,  yes,  drive  down 
Midway." 

But  Midway  was  even  more  forlorn.  Here 
deathless  art  had  not  reigned,  but  frail  amusement 
that  dies  so  easily.  The  dregs  of  wine,  the  tat- 
tered robe,  the  dulled  and  broken  jewel,  are  not 
pathetic,  but  contemptible.  Only  the  graceful 
little  huts  of  the  Javanese  offered  any  temptation 
to  the  relic  hunters,  who  pulled  down  the  long 
grass  which  had  thatched  the  roofs,  and  tore  away 
the  gay  mattings  from  the  walls,  in  spite  of  the 
policemen  set  to  guard  them.  "You  are  tired, 
Eloise,"  exclaimed  Philip,  suddenly.  "We  will  go 
home.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?" 

"It  is  queer  how  Eloise  gets  tired  over  some 
things,"  prattled  Aunt  Harriet, "  which  don't  tire 
me  a  bit." 

The  next  day  was  Monday,  the  busiest  in  the 
week  for  Eloise.  There  were  scholars  from  ten 
to  twelve  and  from  three  to  five.  Philip  was  to 
go  at  six. 

He  came  in  at  noon,  having  spent  the  morning 
hours  with  the  Glenn  children,  and  found  Eloise 
still  in  her  long  brown  apron  cleaning  her  brushes. 
"How  much  longer  do  yon  mean  to  keep  this 
up  ?"  he  inquired,  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  know.  Please  don't  hinder  me,  Philip," 
for  he  had  taken  the  brushes  out  of  her  hands 


127 


with  the  air  of  proprietorship  which  always  an- 
noyed her.  Instead  of  returning  the  brushes,  he 
took  the  empty  hands  in  his  and  attempted  to 
read  her  averted  face.  "Eloise,  are  you  sorry 
that  you  said — that  you  promised — " 

"Nonsense,  Philip,"  she  answered,  letting  her 
eyes  meet  his,  for  an  instant. 

"  Then  what  is  it  ?  Why  do  you  avoid  me  ? 
Do  I  bore  you  ?" 

"  Why,  no ;  how  foolish  you  are !  I  am  think- 
ing about  my  work.  I  have  to,  in  order  to  suc- 
ceed." 

"Is  it  so  necessary  for  you  to  succeed — now?" 

"  It  is  rather  agreeable,"  returned  Eloise,  in  a 
tone  which  puzzled  him. 

"  I  don't  mean  your  painting,  but  the  teaching 
and  the  fuss.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  your  tug- 
ging along.  You  ought  not  to  have  to  wrestle 
with  the  world." 

"  I  like  it,"  said  Eloise,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 
"  If  you  don't  let  go  of  my  hands  I  can't  finish 
cleaning  up,  and  we  won't  have  any  luncheon." 

Philip  released  her  with  a  sigh,  comforting 
himself  with  the  thought  of  the  hour  between 
five  and  six,  when  Eloise  would  be  again  at  leisure, 
and  he  would  renew  the  argument. 

But  at  five  came  the  alarm  of  fire,  fire  at  Jack- 
son Park.  The  Peristyle  was  burning.  This  was 
the  first  great  wound,  and  all  Chicago  felt  the 
hurt.  Eloise  and  Philip  hurried  to  the  spot,  but 
found  thousands  there  before  them.  Alon«r  the 


128 


dark  streets  of  the  Dream  City  men  and  women 
went  in  straggling  groups,  silently. 

Silent,  too,  were  the  crowds  that  thronged  the 
spaces  along  the  lagoons,  before  the  burning 
building.  The  Casino  was  ablaze  when  they 
reached  the  Court,  and  the  flames  were  climbing 
the  Triumphal  Arch.  Dense  clouds  of  smoke 
hid  the  western  walls  and  rolled  up  around  the 
Quadriga.  Above  the  smoke-wreaths,  and  seem- 
ing to  outride  their  threat  as  his  purpose  outrode 
the  storm  of  Western  seas  and  the  opposition  of 
his  enemies,  the  discoverer  was  to  be  seen  in  his 
chariot,  radiant  as  Elisha's  vision  of  his  leader, 
and,  like  it,  soon  to  disappear. 

The  helpless  people  recognized  their  helpless- 
ness. They  had  no  enormous  safeguards  to  pro- 
tect the  enormous  structures  they  had  reared. 
Pitifully  inadequate  were  the  streams  of  water 
thrown  by  the  engines;  hysterical  their  calls  for 
coal;  absurd  their  bold  arrivals  with  prancing 
horses  and  clanging  bells;  disheartening  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  were  beaten  back. 

The  wind  was  from  the  lake ;  it  blew  the  smoke 
in  their  faces  and  blinded  them.  "Come  around 
on  the  pier,"  cried  Eloise,  darting  away,  leaving 
Philip  to  follow.  The  pier  was  nearly  deserted. 
A  policeman  was  attempting  to  clear  it  completely; 
but  an  amateur  photographer  who  had  set  up  his 
trident  in  the  very  teeth  of  the  flame,  and  a  re- 
porter equally  daring,  were  deaf  to  his  shouts 
and  blind  to  the  wave  of  his  "  billy."  Eloise  was 


129 


close  behind  them.  Philip  drew  her  arm  within 
his  own.  "  Don't !"  she  cried,  pettishly.  "I  can't 
bear — anything — now  !" 

Across  the  white  pillars  played  the  whiter  flames, 
like  sunlight  upon  snow.  Every  line  was  alive 
with  a  new  and  dazzling  loveliness.  Every  figure 
sprang  into  prominence,  swayed  to  the  influence 
of  the  invading  power,  shone  Avith  the  final  bene- 
diction of  its  grace,  and  fell  into  the  abyss.  The 
roofless  columns  burned  at  the  top  like  torches. 
In  time  they,  too,  fell,  and  their  fall  was  like  that 
of  the  forest  tree  when  it  yields  to  the  axe,  slow, 
stately,  submissive.  Under  the  roof  of  Music 
Hall,  blown  backward  by  the  wind,  swift,  sinuous, 
the  gray  smoke  clung  like  a  restless  drapery. 
Above  and  below  darted  the  flames.  It  lit  the 
figures  upon  the  roof,  standing  as  the  Christian 
martyrs  stood,  or  the  victims  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution, awaiting  the  end  with  an  ineffable  dignity. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  noise  like  that  of  a  can- 
non, and  the  flame  broke  into  a  blaze.  The  ad- 
venturous people  upon  the  pier  hurried  to  a  place 
of  safety. 

"You  are  cold  ;  your  teeth  are  fairly  chatter- 
ing !"  exclaimed  Philip,  folding  Eloise's  cloak 
more  closely  around  her. 

"  It  isn't  the  cold,"  she  replied. 

"  And  you  have  had  no  dinner.  It  is  almost 
nine  o'clock,"  pursued  Philip.  "  You  should  have 
let  me  call  a  carriage.  Here,  s-s-t,  boy !  call  me 
a  carriage  and  I'll  make  it  worth  your  while." 


130 


The  boy  turned,  a  dwarfish  creature  with  an 
elfish  face  that  leered  at  them  in  the  flickering 
light. 

"Can't  git  nothin'  'round  yere.  Every  thin' 
taken — see?"  Following  the  direction  in  which  he 
pointed,  they  saw  line  upon  line  of  carriages  drawn 
up  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd.  They  threaded 
their  way  between  them.  There  were  vehicles 
of  every  description,  old-fashioned  wagons  har- 
nessed to  animals  that  stood  as  if  their  hoofs  had 
been  driven  into  the  soil,  glittering  broughams 
and  victorias  kept  in  constant  motion  by  the 
fidgeting  horses  which  champed  their  silver  bits 
and  clanked  their  silver  chains  in  nervous  protest. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  Charity  Ball,  and  the 
ladies  had  been  taken  out  as  they  were.  Their 
light  dresses  would  be  no  more  conspicuous,  later, 
in  the  boxes  than  they  were  now  in  the  fire-lit  car- 
riages. 

"  I  will  try  again  when  we  get  out  of  this  jam," 
said  Philip.  "  Look  out,  there  !"  he  caught  an  ag- 
gressive cob  as  his  nose  grazed  Eloise's  shoulder. 

"  What  are  you  doing  ?"  growled  the  coachman 
from  his  box. 

"Minding  your  business  for  you,"  retorted 
Philip. 

A  man  in  a  cape  overcoat,  leaning  on  the  car- 
riage window-sill,  was  thrown  aside  when  Philip 
caught  the  rein.  "  What's  the  trouble  ?"  he  in- 
quired, good-naturedly,  but,  without  waiting  for 
an  answer,  turned  again  to  the  window.  The 


131 


light  bad  shone  full  on  his  face ;  Eloise  saw  him 
plainly.  She  saw  also  the  face  of  the  woman  who 
sat  in  the  carriage  talking  with  him.  The  man 
was  Mark  Heffron.  The  woman  was  Mademoiselle 
Duvray.  "  Come,"  Eloise  heard  him  say,  "  you 
must  see  the  Golden  Republic.  She  is  grand, 
towering  above  the  smoke  !"  and  then  he  opened 
the  carriage  door. 


XVI 

INVOLUNTARILY  Marguerite  glanced  down  at 
her  white  shoes.  Prudence  had  been  a  neces- 
sary virtue  for  the  greater  part  of  her  life.  Mrs. 
Burnham,  who  sat  opposite,  smiled  significantly. 

"  The  experience  is  worth  a  pair  of  shoes  !"  ex- 
claimed Mark,  holding  out  his  hand,  and  she  laid 
hers  within  it. 

"I  am  really  genei'ous  to  furnish  you  such  a 
figure  to  use  against  me,"  he  said,  as  he  led  her 
through  the  crowd  to  the  lagoon. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"In  our  quarrel  about  'the  new  woman.'  You 
will  be  reminding  me,  after  this,  that  severity  of 
outline  becomes  strength  in  trying  circumstances. 
There  she  is !" 

The  smoke  cleared,  permitting  the  majestic 
head  to  appear  and  the  commanding  arm.  "  Try 
any  of  your  Venuses  beside  that !"  cried  Mark. 
"Isn't  she  superb  in  the  calm  of  her  invincibility  ? 
That  conception  of  womanhood  was  impossible  to 
the  Old  World  of  Art— do  you  know  it?" 

"Minerva?"  suggested  Marguerite,  somewhat 
timidly. 

"No,  Minerva  had  to  help  out  her  followers. 


133 


For  our  Golden  Republic  men  have  been  glad  to 
die." 

"And  this  ideal,  this  'calm  of  invincibility,' 
you  forbid  to  the  modern  woman !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  As  an  individual,  yes.  The  proportions  are 
too  heroic.  A  real  flesh  -  and  -  blood  woman  is 
ridicujous  when  she  tries  to  be  great  in  that  way. 
We  don't  want  our  women  to  be  goddesses." 

"  No,  of  com-se  not,"  she  retorted.  "It's  the 
same  old  song — man  for  himself,  and  woman  for 
man.  Why  not  woman  for  herself,  also?" 

"Because,"  he  answered,  looking  indulgently 
down  on  her.  "  That  deprives  man  of  his  inspira- 
tion and  the  end  of  his  labor.  Not  woman  for 
herself,  but  man  for  woman  ;  it  is  the  law  of  the 
universe." 

"  There  is  no  progress  in  that,"  she  answered, 
defiantly.  "  You  said  yourself,  just  now,  that  this 
conception  of  womanhood  was  impossible  to  the 
Old  World  of  Art.  The  new  woman  has  at  least 
furnished  an  ideal  to  the  artist." 

"At  the  expense  of  other  blessings,"  he  finished. 
"  You  know  and  I  know  that  the  bond  which 
holds  between  man  and  woman  is  not  the  new- 
fangled, Platonic,  intellectual  comradeship,  but  a 
feeling  as  primitive  as  the  romance  of  Eden.  It 
is  the  talk  about  the  independent  rights  of  women 
which  has  turned  the  world  upside  down."  He 
squared  his  shoulders  and  his  chin,  and  dared  her 
to  go  on  with  the  argument.  This  she  was  not 
yet  prepared  to  do. 


134 


"Mr.  French  ought  to  see  his  creation,  now," 
she  evaded.  "  I  wonder  if  lie  thought  of  her  so, 
harassed  and  assailed  ?" 

"A  sort  of  artistic  subconsciousness  ?"  he  sug- 
gested, accepting  her  evasion. 

And  then  they  talked  of  other  things,  mere 
"  padding  "  such  as  makes  up  the  greater  part  of 
all  conversation.  There  were  no  pauses,  and  there 
was  nothing  said  which  either  cared  to  remember, 
or  which  in  anyway  interfered  with  the  train  of 
thought  carried  on  underneath.  Marguerite  was 
thinking,  "  Ever  since  I  met  this  man  last  October 
he  has  tried  to  trip  me.  He  shall  not,  and  I  will 
not  run  away  as  I  did  before." 

Mark  was  thinking,"  She  shall  not  dodge  me  this 
time.  I'll  have  her  secret  in  spite  of  her."  Both 
pairs  of  eyes  flashed  when  they  met  in  farewell, 
as  swords  flash  before  the  fencing  begins.  Mar- 
guerite made  a  final  effort  to  think  of  something 
which  should  make  her  feel  less  feminine  and  weak. 

"  I  am  going  to  lecture,  day  after  to-morrow,  on 
the  Symbolists,"  she  began,  in  an  off-hand,  busi- 
ness-like way.  "  Do  you  care  to  hear  me  ?" 

"  Of  course.     What  is  the  hour  ?" 

"Four  o'clock." 

"I  expect  my  friend  Norton  in  the  morning." 

"  '  Joey  ?'    Bring  him,  too." 

They  shook  hands  and  parted,  as  two  men 
might  have  done,  and  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

"How  did  you  enjoy  the  Republic?"  asked 
Mrs.  Burnham. 


135 


"  It  was  lovely,"  replied  Marguerite,  abstracted- 
ly, adding,  with  a  laugh,  "but  I've  ruined  my 
shoes." 

"There'll  be  plenty  of  time  to  change  them," 
Mrs.  Burnham,  rejoined.  "  I  suppose  Mr.  HeftVon 
is  not  going?" 

"No  ;  he  doesn't  care  for  such  things." 

"So  I  should  judge.  Where  are  your  flow- 
ers ?" 

Marguerite  uttered  a  cry  of  dismay.  "  I  had 
them  when  we  started  ;  they  must  be  in  the  car- 
riage." 

"They're  not.  What  will  the  Prince  say?  He 
was  so  careful  to  select  your  colors.  You  prob- 
ably dropped  them  when  you  got  out." 

A  feeling  of  annoyance  altogether  dispropor- 
tionate to  the  loss  of  her  flowers  swept  over 
Marguerite.  To  have  forgotten  where  she  was 
and  what  she  was  doing — it  made  her  hot  and 
cold  b)r  turns !  She  must  pull  herself  up  short 
and  take  a  stand.  The  lecture  would  give  her 
an  opportunity — controlling  an  audience  always 
helped  her  control  herself.  She  hoped  that  he 
would  come. 

There  was  no  uncertainty  about  his  coming  ; 
he  was  as  impatient  for  the  hour  to  arrive  as 
Marguerite  herself.  Joey  went  with  him.  Louise 
Ayer,  who  was  a  sort  of  prime-minister  on  such 
occasions,  had  been  urged  to  see  that  they  had 
seats  near  the  front,  but  Louise  was  so  occupied 
with  Carl  Derino:  when  the  two  friends  entered 


136 


that  they  were  in  their  places  before  she  knew 
they  were  there. 

The  long  room  was  filled  with  the  cultured  and 
fashionable  women  of  Chicago — what  is  known 
as  a  "representative  audience."  Only  a  few  men 
were  present ;  they  were  too  busy  thinking  of 
other  things,  in  order  that  their  wives  and  daugh- 
ters might  have  leisure  to  think  of  the  Symbol- 
ists. 

A  flutter  of  interest  announced  the  arrival  of 
the  lecturer,  who  came  swiftly  in,  and  stood  wait- 
ing until  the  applause  of  recognition  had  ceased. 
Between  the  rows  of  nodding  bonnets,  Mark 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  graceful  figure,  poised 
like  a  flower  on  its  stem.  "  The  calm  of  invinci- 
bility "  he  recognized  with  a  smile,  but  instead  of 
being  properly  overawed  by  it,  was  seized  with  a 
sacrilegious  impulse  if)  catch  her  up  and  carry  her 
away,  and  fondle  her  and  laugh  at  her  until  he 
should  discover  what  human  stirrings  of  heart  lay 
underneath  the  cairn. 

Then  she  began  to  speak.  It  was  a  most  artis- 
tic performance  ;  the  articulation,  the  accent,  the 
clear,  singing  tones  were  perfect,  and  it  was  by 
these  that  she  was  to  be  judged,  in  the  main. 
The  names  that  she  quoted  were  unfamiliar  to 
most  of  her  hearers,  and  of  the  poems  which  she 
recited  there  was  no  translation.  But  her  French 
was  exquisite. 

The  stories  she  told,  and  the  descriptions  she 
gave,  were  mystic  and  peculiar  ;  they  contained 


137 


frequent  allusions  to  death,  moonlight,  and  vague 
unrest. 

There  was  a  hint,  just  a  hint,  of  the  voluntary 
production  of  ecstasy,  but  it  was  accompanied  by 
the  confession  that  the  Symbolists  often  relied 
upon  opium  or  hasheesh  in  the  production  of  their 
fanciful  compositions.  One  or  two  of  the  poets 
had  been  in  prison  for  some  petty  crime,  and  one 
was  an  occasional  visitor  in  the  pauper  ward  of  a 
hospital,  where  he  received  his  decadent  friends. 
It  was  all  deliciously  harrowing  to  hear  about, 
and  left  a  delicate  impression  of  bewildering  sor- 


A  murmur  of  appreciation  and  the  clapping  of 
gloved  hands  followed  the  close  ;  then  every  one 
turned  to  his  or  her  neighbor  and  said  it  had  been 
charming,  delightful,  and  none  ventured  to  say 
how  or  why.  Professor  La  Motte  bowed  low  over 
the  hand  which  Louise  Ayer  gave  him,  and  uttered 
his  usual  formula  of  French  compliment,  insisting 
that  she  reply  in  the  same  language.  Carl  Der- 
ing  stood  near,  Availing  for  a  final  word  with 
Louise.  Mademoiselle  Duvray  had  been  sur- 
rounded by  eager  women  as  soon  as  she  ceased 
speaking  ;  their  sweet,  shrill  voices  floated  over 
to  the  corner  where  Mark  and  Joey  stood.  Joey 
glanced  quizzically  at  Mark,  but  Mark  was  study- 
ing the  Pompeian  frescoes  upon  the  wall.  He 
was  suave  and  gracious,  for  Mark,  when  in  her 
triumphal  progress  down  the  room  Mademoiselle 
Duvray  came  to  the  corner,  and  he  spoke  in  flat- 


138 


tering  terms  of  her  eloquence.  Marguerite  should 
have  been  content,  but,  after  the  full  libations 
which  her  pupils  had  been  pouring  to  her,  his 
praise  seemed  poor  and  thin. 

"  I  know  you  don't  care  for  these  things,"  she 
said,  tolerantly,  as  who  should  say,  "I  see  what 
you  do  not." 

"What,  'the  subtleties  of  sensation?'"  he  an- 
swered, caustically.  "  I  think  they're  dangerous  ; 
but  if  people  like  that  sort  of  thing,  it  is  their 
own  lookout.  It  is  two-thirds  pose,  anyway,  with 
these  fellows — they  don't  mean  half  they  say." 

When  Marguerite  had  been  taking  her  Symbol- 
ists altogether  seriously,  this  Avas  positively  un- 
kind. She  welcomed  the  opportunity  to  exercise 
an  admirable  self-control.  "I  do  not  quite  under- 
stand," she  said  with  deliberation.  "Do  you 
mean  that  these  new  philosophers  are  not  in 
earnest  ?" 

"They're  anything  but  new,"  replied  Mark, 
brusquely.  "They  combine  the  Pantheism  of 
Bruno  and  the  Idealism  of  Spinoza  with  just 
enough  modern  psychology  to  make  their  system 
appear  new  and  scientific.  It  isn't  new,  and  it 
isn't  scientific.  Science  is  accurate,  it  is  clear. 
These  emotional  explorers  are  groping  around  in 
the  'misty  borderland  of  thought,'  making  a  great 
to-do  over  they  don't  know  what.  They'd  better 
stop  whooping  until  they're  out  of  the  woods." 

"Don't  mind  him,  Mademoiselle  Duvray,"  in- 
terposed Norton,  sweetly.  "  He  has  these  attacks 


139 


occasionally.  If  you  had  pitched  into  the  Sym- 
bolists he  would  have  sworn  they  were  wiser  than 
the  Three  Kings." 

But  Mark  had  no  idea  of  being  daunted  in  this 
fashion.  "  To  be  sure  the  universe  expresses 
thought,"  he  continued.  "Most  of  us  subscribed 
to  that  long  ago,  and  to  the  doctrine  that  all 
things  are  subject  to  the  same  laws —  '  We  are  all 
evanescent  expressions  of  an  eternal  unity,'  but 
you  don't  get  any  nearer  to  the  eternal  unity  by 
playing  tricks  with  the  evanescent  expressions. 
Scientific  !  Heaven  forbid  !" 

"But,  Mr.  Heffron,"  pursued  Marguerite,  brave- 
ly, "  as  I  understand  the  Symbolists,  they  do  not 
pride  themselves  on  their  scientific  accuracy  but 
on  their  suggestiveness,  which  is  a  purely  artistic 
quality.  It  may  have  no  place  in  science,  but  it 
has  in  art,  and  art  is  as  necessary  as  science — you 
grant  that,  surely '?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  replied  Mark,  bluntly.  "  People 
are  bound  to  feel,  anyway,  and  they  won't  think 
if  they  can  help  it.  You  don't  need  to  hunt  up 
their  nerves  and  bear  down  on  them  in  order  to 
produce  a  sensation  ;  teach  them  reason  and  self- 
control,  and  emotion  will  take  care  of  itself." 

Now,  if  there  was  anything  in  her  instruction 
upon  which  Marguerite  prided  herself,  it  was  the 
pi'ominence  she  gave  to  reason  and  self-control. 
To  be  sure  Mark  had  not  seen  her  circulars,  but 
he  should  have  detected  the  quality  of  their  spirit 
in  their  author.  Marguerite  was  put  on  her  met- 


140 


tie  at  once.  It  would  never  do  to  let  that  remark 
pass  before  the  listening  women  who  were  her 
disciples.  "  Beauty  is  not  unreasonable,  Mr.  Hef- 
fron,"  she  said  with  dignity,  "  and  there  is  nothing 
so  subject  to  control  as  Art."  With  these  words 
she  virtually  closed  the  debate,  asking  young  Nor- 
ton how  long  he  was  to  remain  in  the  city. 

"You  can't  slug  her,  Mark,"  laughed  Norton, 
as  they  walked  down  State  Street,  arm.  in  arm,  to 
avoid  being  separated  by  the  crowd,  "and  she's 
the  first  woman  I  ever  saw  whom  you  couldn't. 
You  needn't  lift  your  eyebrows  in  that  way.  I've 
seen  you  pound  the  poor  things  all  over  the  field, 
using  words  they  couldn't  possibly  understand. 
If  she  doesn't  catch  on,  you'll  never  know  it0  nor 
any  one  else.  She  won't  own  up  to  any  limita- 
tions. That's  the  only  fault  she  has,  not  to  have 
faults  ;  but  that's  a  big  one.  Half  the  fun  a  man 
has  with  a  woman  is  in  laughing  at  her. 

o          o 

"You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
Joey,"  growled  Mark. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  returned  Joey,  positively.  "  She's 
an  Ideal,  take  my  word  for  it,  Mark,  she's  an  Ideal, 
and  to  fall  in  love  with  an  Ideal  is  almost  as  bad 
as  falling  in  love  with  a  Type  ;  it's  too  general  in 
its  application.  You  want  something  decidedly 
personal  when  you  fall  in  love." 

"  Joey,"  pursued  Mark,  assuming  a  paternal  air, 
"you  are  a  nice  boy,  but  you  have  one  weakness; 
you  talk  too  much." 

"  All  right,"  returned  Joey,  submissively.   "But 


141 


some  one  has  to  talk.    I'll  stop,  and  you  say  some- 
thing." 

Silence  ensued  for  some  seconds,  and  then  Joey 
resumed  in  an  injured  tone,  "What  did  I  tell 
you  ?  You  won't  say  a  blamed  word  when  you 
get  a  chance.  I  say,  Mark,  don't  you  think  it  was 
rather  pedantic  for  her  to  get  off  all  those  poems 
in  French  ?  Don't  you  think  it  was  taking  an 
unfair  advantage — a  sort  of  'hiding  behind  the 
picket-fence  of  unintelligibility,'  as  she  says  the 
critics  accuse  these  Symbolists  of  doing?" 

"Probably  to  the  majority  of  the  audience  it 
was  perfectly  intelligible,"  returned  Mark,  dryly. 
"It  is  hardly  fair  to  impose  our  ignorance  of 
French  as  a  limitation  upon  Mademoiselle  Du- 
vray." 

Norton  stroked  his  pointed  beard  with  his  free 
hand  and  looked  reflective.  "There's  another 
thing,"  he  pursued,  after  a  pause.  "  Did  it  ever 
occur  to  you  that  she  was  trying  to  get  an  influ- 
ence over  you — not  as  other  women  do,  for  their 
own  enjoyment,  but  for  your  soul's  good,  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing?  Now,  women  are  perfectly 
welcome  to  my  heart.  That's  on  my  sleeve,  as  any 
one  of  them  can  see  for  herself.  But  I  carry  my 
soul  in  my  inside  vest-pocket,  and  I'd  thank  them 
to  keep  their  fingers  out  of  there." 

Mark  did  not  even  smile.  "  He's  either  hard 
hit  or  he  thinks  I'm  a  fool,"  mused  Joey.  "  I 
don't  believe  he  thinks  I'm  a  fool. — You  know 
they're  all  on  to  that  sort  of  thing,"  he  continued, 


142 


aloud.  "Circe  up  to  date!  She  doesn't  wave 
her  wand  over  you  and  say,  'Begone  to  the  sty  P 
She  lifts  you  to  immeasurable  heights,  and  if  you 
get  warm  and  melt  the  wax  which  holds  on  your 
wings,  it's  your  own  fault.  There  is  my  car. 
Won't  you  come  out  to  the  house  to  dinner  ? 
Uncle  says  you  haven't  been  there  for  an  age." 

"  I  have  an  engagement,  thank  you,"  replied 
Mark,  coldly. 

"Well,  then,  au  revoir.  I've  been  immensely 
entertained." 

Mark  walked  on  towards  the  bridge.  He  felt 
irritated.  He  was  provoked  with  Norton,  pro- 
voked with  himself.  What  did  he  know  about 
society  women  and  their  intellectual  appetites? 
Marguerite  probably  gave  them  what  was  good 
for  them.  He  had  been  like  a  clumsy  bear  put- 
ting his  great  foot  into  the  lace-like  web  of  her 
pretty  fancies ;  he  had  destroyed  their  beauty, 
and  what  had  been  gained  ?  She  had  been  kind 
enough  to  permit  him  to  be  present  when  she 
spoke,  and  he  had  repaid  her  kindness  by  quarrel- 
ling with  her  before  her  friends.  What  business 
had  he,  anyway,  airing  his  opinions?  Who  cared 
what  they  were  ?  And  yet,  hang  it  all !  she  was 
mistaken  all  the  way  through  ;  her  ideas  of  life 
were  absurdly  false  ;  some  day  she  would  find  it 
out.  That  dissipated  Russian  Avho  was  dangling 
about  last  evening  at  the  ball — for  Mark  had  fol- 
lowed the  carriage  back  to  the  city,  contrary  to 
his  determination,  and  had  stood  for  a  full  hour 


143 


where  he  could  watch  Marguerite  and  her  chap- 
eron in  their  box — any  one  who  knew  the  world 
could  see  what  that  fellow  was  ;  but  evidently  he 
stood  high  in  her  favor.  Poor  little  thing  !  she 
walked  in  a  cloud  of  beautiful  ideas,  and  had 
no  appreciation  of  the  chasms  which  yawned  on 
either  side. 

By  the  time  he  had  reached  his  hotel,  Mark  had 
walked  and  reasoned  himself  into  good-humor, 
and  had  decided  that  he  would  have  a  frank, 
friendly  talk  with  Marguerite,  and  show  her  the 
fallacies  with  which  she  dealt. 


XVII 

"  PLEASANT,  when  you  bring  up  Miss  Gordon's 
dinner  to-night,  can't  you  stay  and  entertain  her  a 
little  while,  sing  to  her  or  something!  She  is 
rather  down  in  her  spirits." 

"  Yes,  Mis'  Larrabee,  yessum,"  replied  Pleas- 
ant, "  I'll  come  up  jes'  as  quick  as  I  get  thoo." 

"Thank  you, Pleasant."  Miss  Larrabee  moved 
on  with  a  sigh.  It  was  a  new  experience  to  have 
strong,  self-reliant  Eloise  an  invalid.  Half  a 
dozen  individuals  stopped  her  on  her  way  to  the 
door  to  inquire  for  Miss  Gordon.  "Her  cold  is 
better,  but  she  is  weak  and  low-spirited,"  Miss 
Larrabee  replied. 

"Does  she  see  folks?"  inquired  Mrs.  Shipman. 

"No,  not  at  all  —  at  least,  only  relatives,  and 
near  friends,  and  people  on  business,"  answered 
Miss  Larrabee,  trying  to  be  truthful  and  prudent 
at  the  same  time  and  making  poor  work  of  it. 

"Do  you  think  my  music  disturbs  her?"  asked 
a  thin,  dark  woman,  with  a  sprinkling  of  gray  on 
her  forelock  which  made  her  look  like  a  Polish 
hen. 

"I  think  not,  Miss  Thompson.  No,  there's 
nothing  any  one  can  do,  Mr.  NcNulty.  It  is  six 


145 


weeks  since  she  was  taken,  that  night  at  the  Fair 
Grounds  when  the  Peristyle  burned.  I  will  let  you 
know,  Mr.  Armstrong,  if  there  is  anything  you  can 
do.  Thank  you  all.  Good-night."  Miss  Larrabee 
swept  on,  uplifted  by  the  deferential  attitude  of 
her  fellow -boarders.  They  had  all  been  very 
kind,  but  she  never  knew  when  they  would  change 
and  be  disagreeable.  However,  when  their  in- 
terest lagged  it  was  immediately  stimulated  by 
Mrs.  Glenn.  It  was  she  who  told  Mrs.  Shipman, 
who  told  several  others,  how  brave  and  generous 
Eloise  had  been,  actually  refusing  to  have  her 
lover  informed  of  her  true  condition,  because  he 
had  gone  to  the  Pacific  coast  on  important  busi- 
ness which  would  detain  him  until  spring.  "  It 
would  break  your  heart  to  see  her,"  declared  Mrs. 
Glenn.  "  She  sits  up  and  writes  to  him  when  it  is 
all  she  can  do  to  move  her  fingers;  and  makes 
believe  she  is  all  right.  She  just  insisted  that  we 
should  not  tell  him." 

Eloise  had  also  added,  "I  will  not  have  him 
here,  he  would  drive  me  distracted ;"  but  there 
was  no  need  of  telling  people  that. 

"She  is  not  herself,  anyway,"  Miss  Larrabee 
had  whispered,  after  the  two  women  had  gone 
out  into  the  hall  to  talk  it  over.  "  Why,  she  even 
gets  provoked  with  me." 

William  Pleasant  seemed  to  suit  Eloise  better 
than  any  one  else  did.  She  had  discovered  his 
capabilities  by  chance  one  day  when  he  came  np 

for  a  "  pome  "  to  speak  at  the  club. 

10 


146 


"What  club,  Pleasant  ?" 

"The  Lake  View  Club,  Miss  Gordon.  It's  a 
kind  of  littry  and  social  club.  We  have  debates 
and  speeches,  and  the  Happy  Four  Quartet  sing. 
Mos'  everything,"  Pleasant  laughed  by  way  of  a 
period. 

"  What  sort  of  questions  do  you  debate  ?" 

"Las'  time  we  'scussed  whether  a  woman's 
brains  or  a  man's  was  the  best,  and  de  time  befo' 
that  we  'scussed  whether  a  feller'd  save  his  wife 
or  his  mother  if  they's  all  shipwrecked  together. 
Sam  Jennin's  and  Jo  Tarrents  'scussed  that.  Sam 
cried,  he  got  so  excited." 

"  Which  side  did  he  take  ?" 

"  The  wife's  side  ;  but  Jo,  he  said  you  could 
get  another  wife,  and  you  can't  never  have  but 
one  mother.  Tell  you,  Miss  Gordon,  that  club's 
a  big  thing.  There'd  been  less  shootin'  craps 
and  more  boys  with  overcoats  if  it  had  started 
sooner." 

"  You  have  a  large  number  to  choose  from  ?" 
pursued  Eloise,  loath  to  let  him  go. 

"  Yessum,"  answered  Pleasant,  only  too  glad  to 
remain.  "There's  one  used  to  be  an  elder,  he 
exhorts  sometimes  at  the  club  ;  and  an  artist,  he's 
doin'  crayon  po'traits  to  give  away  as  prizes  at  a 
cigar-store  ;  he's  a  perfesser — at  least,  if  he  ain't 
a  regular  perfesser,  he's  a  perfesser  of  am-er- 
chewer;  and  there's  a  baseball  player.  Yessum, 
we've  got  a  nice  lot  of  boys." 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  a  little  reckless  to  let 


147 


Pleasant  take  Leigh  Hunt's  poems  down-stairs  ?" 
Aunt  Harriet  asked,  afterwards. 

"  It's  worth  all  the  book  cost  to  hear  him  say  : 

» 
'  King  Francis  was  a  liarty  king  and  loved  a  royal  spote, 

And  one  day  while  the  lions  fought  sat  lookin'  on  de 
cote,' " 

replied  Eloise. 

Neither  Mrs.  Glenn  nor  Aunt  Harriet  nor 
Carl,  who  came  almost  every  day,  could  dispel 
from  her  face  the  pallid,  bored  look  as  could 
Pleasant,  and  Pleasant  enjoyed  the  process  as  well 
as  she  did. 

He  came  in  to-night,  after  a  modest  tap  at  the 
door,  with  a  respectful,  "Bid  you  good-evenin', 
Miss  Gordon,"  and  took  up  her  guitar,  which  he 
had  fitted  with  new  strings  during  his  last  visit. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  play  somethin'  new,"  he  said,  with 
a  chuckle,  fondling  the  instrument  as  if  it  were  a 
baby,  and  his  own.  Lovingly  he  ran  his  fingers 
over  the  strings,  and  struck  into  a  melody  whose 
every  note  was  a  caress,  pathetic  in  its  tenderness, 
joy  ful  in  its  longing,  giving  all  and  asking  nothing. 

"  What  is  it  ?  It  is  perfectly  exquisite  !"  cried 
Eloise,  as  the  player  stopped,  and  gave  vent  to 
another  chuckle. 

"  I  call  it  '  Pleasant  Dreams,' "  replied  the  boy, 
showing  his  white  teeth. 

"  Did  you  compose  that  ?  Did  you  make  that 
up?" 

"  Yessum." 


148 


"  Pleasant,  you're  a  genius.     Play  it  again." 

He  obeyed,  putting  into  the  simple  strain,  if 
possible,  more  tenderness,  more  joyyand  more  re- 
nunciation. , 

"Pleasant,"  the  listener  asked,  suddenly,  after 
a  pause,  "what  do  you  think  of  when  you  play 
like  that  ?" 

Pleasant  giggled,.  "  I  was  thinkin' — of  a  lady," 
he  answered,  continuing,  confidently,  "  Miss  Gor- 
don, I  wanter  ask  you  what  it  is.  I'm  awfully 
fond  of  my  folks,  of  my  father  and  mother,  but 
there  are  times  when  I  don't  go  near  'em  for  a 
long  while.  But  if  I  set  out  to  go  and  see  that 
lady,  I'm  goin'  anyhow.  And  the  nex'  day  I'm 
thinkin'  'bout  it  all  the  time.  If  I  get  a  letter 
frum  her,  I'm  boun'  to  set  right  down  and  answer 
it.  Now,  what  is  that,  Miss  Gordon  ?" 

"  You're  in  love,  Pleasant." 

"  Oh,  I  sut'nly  hope  not." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  ain't  fixed  to  get  married.  I've  al- 
ways heard  if  poverty  comes  in  at  the  do'  love 
flies  out  at  the  winder.  And  I  couldn't  stand 
that  nohow.  If  I  couldn't  get  money  by  work,  I'd 
do  mos'  anything,  and  then  " —  he  put  up  his 
fingers  and  looked  through  them  as  through  bars 
— "  yessum,  I'd  steal,  that's  what  I'd  do,  if  I's 
sure  to  be  shut  up." 

Eloise  made  no  response,  but  the  glance  she 
gave  him  was  so  full  of  sympathy  that  Pleasant 
continued  :  "I  feel  'sponsible  for  that  lady  as  I 


149 


do  for  my  mother  and  sister.  Now,  times  is  so 
bad,  I  tell  her  to  stay  where  she  is,  where  her 
folks  will  take  care  of  her."  He  patted  the  strings 
of  the  guitar  thoughtfully  for  a  minute ;  then  re- 
membering he  was  there  to  entertain  and  not  ap- 
peal, he  said,  brightly,  "Now  I'll  do  a  funny 
piece,"  and  began  to  play  the  most  doleful  minor 
chords.  The  words  which  he  sang  to  them  were 
in  broken  English  and  German,  and  portrayed  the 
sufferings  of  a  young  man  at  the  hands  of  his 
prospective  father-in-law.  As  the  lugubrious  wail 
went  on  and  on  the  listener  became  fairly  hyster- 
ical. At  last  it  came  to  an  end.  "  That's  a  funny 
piece,"  announced  the  player. 

The  entrance  of  Aunt  Harriet  relieved  Eloise 
from  an  embarrassing  position.  Pleasant  immedi- 
ately said  his  good-night  and  withdrew. 

Aunt  Harriet  looked  uneasy.  "I  didn't  mean 
to  stay  so  long,"  she  said,  apologetically.  "  Carl 
has  been  here.  He  thought  he  wouldn't  come  up. 
He  left  his  love." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Eloise,  without  looking 
at  her. 

"  He  wants  me  to  go  out  with  him  to-morrow 
morning  for  a  little  while,"  continued  Aunt  Har- 
riet, hastily — "  that  is,  if  you  can  spare  me." 

"Of  course  !     Why  do  you  ask?" 

Aunt  Harriet  murmured  some  unintelligible  re- 
sponse. If  her  niece  had  not  been  preoccupied 
she  would  have  seen  that  Aunt  Harriet  had  some- 
thing on  her  mind,  but  Eloise  was  thinking  of 


150 


other  things — of  Pleasant  and  his  "  lady,"  and  of 
the  tenderness  and  renunciation  of  "Pleasant 
Dreams." 

"Poor  Pleasant!"  she  mused.  "I  wonder  if 
Philip  feels  in  that  way.  I  suppose  if  he  were 
any  one  else  I  should  be  sorry  for  him." 
.  The  early  church-bells  were  ringing  the  next 
morning  when  Carl  appeared  to  take  Aunt  Har- 
riet "  out "  with  him. 

"  Both  of  them  seemed  in  a  tremendous  hurry," 
Eloise  said  to  Mrs.  Glenn,  who  was  to  sit  with  her 
during  Aunt  Harriet's  absence.  "  Carl  bounced 
in  and  talked  all  the  time,  and  caught  up  Aunt 
Harriet  and  bounced  out  again.  They  are  doing 
something  which  they  mean  to  keep  from  me, 
but  I  don't  know  as  I  care." 

It  might  have  stirred  her  languid  interest  if  she 
could  have  watched  the  pair  enter  Dr.  Symonds's 
office,  transformed  for  the  occasion  into  a  modest 
chapel.  A  slight  young  girl,  with  a  far-off  look 
in  her  dreamy  eyes,  was  playing  softly  on  the  up- 
right piano  in  the  corner.  Carl  led  Aunt  Harriet 
to  the  front  row  of  chairs  near  the  preacher,  who 
sat  on  a  small  platform  behind  a  reading-desk. 
There  was  a  vase  of  roses  on  the  desk,  and  Aunt 
Harriet  could  not  see  his  face  until,  with  a  gest- 
ure, he  brought  the  soothing  sounds  to  a  close 
and  stood  up  before  his  audience.  He  was  of 
medium  size,  built  slenderly  and  finely,  like  a 
woman.  His  eyes  were  large  and  dark,  and  felt 
out  the  faces  of  those  before  him  like  fingers, 


151 


clinging  where  they  touched.  His  sensitive  nos- 
trils palpitated  when  he  breathed.  A  drooping 
black  mustache  hid  his  lips.  The  chin  was  well 
rounded,  the  brow  was  that  of  an  idealist,  full  and 
white.  There  was  no  color  in  the  cheeks,  and  the 
long,  slender,  pointed  hands  were  also  colorless. 
They  trembled  as  he  took  up  the  Testament  from 
which  he  read,  and  when  he  commenced  to  speak 
he  put  one  of  them  behind  him  as  if  to  hide  its 
agitation.  He  was  like  a  sensitive  machine,  thrill- 
ing to  some  invisible  influence. 

For  an  hour  he  talked  straight  into  their  up- 
turned faces.  As  he  proceeded  his  voice  grew 
steadier  and  his  hands  ceased  to  tremble.  He 
seemed  to  lose  himself  in  his  earnestness  ;  what- 
ever might  be  said  of  the  theories  which  he  ad- 
vanced, there  was  no  possibility  of  a  doubt  that 
he  believed  in  them  thoroughly. 

It  was  all  vague  and  bewildering  to  Aunt  Har- 
riet ;  she  had  not  the  remotest  idea  what  the 
speaker  meant,  but  listened  because  every  one 
else  was  listening  with  absorbed  attention.  She 
was  tired,  body  and  soul ;  tired  of  care  and  worry, 
tired  of  combating  the  opinions  and  suspicions  of 
the  people  at  the  hotel,  tired  of  the  uncertain  and 
turbulent  spirit  of  her  niece.  The  atmosphere  of 
the  little  chapel  was  restful  beyond  expression. 
It  was  as  if  her  frail,  cockle-shell  of  a  body  had 
been  lifted  by  a  giant  palm  and  held  above  the 
swirl  and  dash  of  the  waves  where  it  had  drifted. 
She  settled  back  in  her  camel's-hair  shawl  with  a 


152 


sigh  of  utter  content,  feeling  that  for  a  few  short, 
blissful  moments  she  was  freed  from  every  re- 
sponsibility, even  from  that  of  her  own  personal 
salvation,  which  was  wont  to  harass  her  when 
she  had  nothing  else  on  hand. 

At  last  the  speaker  paused  and  said,  impres- 
sively, "Let  us  unite  in  the  Silence!" 

Far  down  in  the  street  the  rumble  of  car- 
riages and  the  tread  of  feet  blended  in  a  rhythmic 
murmur  ;  a  city  clock  chimed  solemnly  ;  there 
was  no  other  sound.  Aunt  Harriet  remembered 
no  silence  to  compare  with  it  save  that  which 
brooded  over  Max  Gordon's  great,  handsome  hall 
while  he  lay  in  it,  dead,  and  they,  his  mourners, 
waited  in  the  gallery  above  for  those  who  came 
to  do  him  final  honor.  The  voice  of  the  strange 
preacher  blended  with  the  calm. 

"  Now  is  every  one  taught  of  the  Spirit,"  he 
repeated,  reverently.  "  Now  is  every  one  led 
whither  he  should  go.  All  problems  are  solved, 
all  disquietude  banished,  and  the  peace  which  is 
past  understanding  is  in  every  heart.  Amen  !" 

The  gentle  musician  was  ready  with  her  chords. 
The  people  sat  relaxed  and  quiet,  thrilling  to 
the  power  which  had  played  over  them.  When 
they  looked  up  the  preacher  had  gone,  vanishing 
through  a  door  in  the  rear  of  the  room. 

"  Come,  Aunt  Harriet,"  whispered  Carl.  She 
stood  up  rubbing  her  eyes.  The  experience  had 
been  as  a  dream  ;  she  felt  rested  and  refreshed, 
like  one  who  awakes  from  sleep.  Bird-like  Mrs. 


153 


Symonds  was  shaking  hands  with  this  one  and 
that  as  they  went  out. 

She  said  she  was  glad  to  meet  Miss  Larrabee, 
and  hoped  to  see  more  of  her. 

"  There  Avere  a  number  of  new  people  there 
this  morning,"  said  Carl,  as  they  crossed  over  to 
the  station.  "  The  Rosses  have  succeeded  in 
bringing  their  uncle  at  last." 

"  Who  was  the  white-haired  man  who  sat  by 
the  door  ?"  asked  Aunt  Harriet. 

"  Mr.  Norton  ;  he  has  been  a  regular  attendant 
for  some  time.  Did  you  see  the  little  woman 
who  sat  opposite  us  with  the  tall  young  lady? 
That  was  Mademoiselle  Duvray.  Louise  Ayer 
was  the  one  with  her.  I  wanted  to  introduce 
you  to  them,  but  there  are  always  so  many  wait- 
ing to  speak  to  Mademoiselle  Duvray  that  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  get  anywhere  near  her. 
Some  other  Sunday  perhaps  I  can  do  it." 

"Some  other  Sunday?"  repeated  Aunt  Har- 
riet, timidly. 

"  Why,  yes,  you  will  go  again." 

"  How  bright  you  look  !"  exclaimed  Eloise,  as 
the  two  came  in  together.  "  I  wish  I  could  get 
out  for  a  long  walk  like  that.  There  is  nothing 
like  fresh  air." 

Aunt  Harriet  gave  a  guilty  start,  but  Carl 
signalled  her  behind  Eloise's  chair  to  say  noth- 
ing, and  she  obeyed. 


XVIII 

To  women  like  Aunt  Harriet  the  appeal  from 
Caesar  is  to  Caesar,  from  love  to  love.  She  could 
not  have  turned  her  back  upon  her  niece  except 
for  Eloise's  own  sake.  Whether  Carl  knew  it  or 
not,  he  was  using  the  only  argument  of  any  pos- 
sible weight  with  her  when  he  told  Aunt  Harriet 
that  she  could  bring  home  renewed  strength  to 
Eloise  by  attending  the  service  at  the  chapel.  It 
would  seem  that  he  spoke  the  truth.  There  was 
less  friction  between  the  two  women  day  by  day. 
Eloise  certainly  gained  ;  her  cough  almost  ceased. 

"  You  must  hold  the  right  thought  over  her," 
counselled  Mrs.  Symonds,  whom  Aunt  Harriet 
was  beginning  to  seek  out  on  week  days  at  the 
office.  "  Say  to  yourself,  '  All  is  Spirit  and  all 
is  Good  !'  "  And  the  obedient  pupil  went  to  sleep 
at  night  and  awoke  in  the  morning  whispering 
the  cabalistic  words. 

Timid  as  she  was,  Aunt  Harriet  never  did  any- 
thing by  halves,  possibly  because  she  did  so  few 
things  that  she  could  afford  to  expend  herself  on 
each.  She  gradually  relaxed  her  hold  on  the 
prayer-book,  and  tightened  the  tentative  grasp 
with  which  she  had  received  the  books  which 


155 


Carl  gave  her  to  read.  The  mystery  -with  which 
they  were  bestowed  and  received  enhanced  their 
value.  Many  of  them,  when  stripped  of  certain 
expressions  which  they  shared  in  common,  would 
have  sounded  not  unlike  the  sermons  she  had 
listened  to  from  orthodox  lips  all  her  life.  But 
somehow  they  seemed  more  real,  more  her  own. 
They  gave  her  something  to  do  and  showed  her 
how  to  do  it.  She  had  at  last  found  a  way  to 
help  Eloise.  Her  transparent  diplomacy  with  the 
guests  had  been  a  failure,  her  anxiety  to  advance 
Philip's  cause  had  only  hindered  it ;  this  new, 
and,  as  it  were,  subterranean  method  of  attack, 
"  holding  the  right  thought,"  was  to  accomplish 
everything.  A  tranquil  look  which  Eloise  had 
never  seen  there  before  gradually  overspread 
Aunt  Harriet's  small,  shrunken  face.  Moreover, 
in  order  to  do  her  utmost  by  the  "  thought,"  she 
must  talk  less,  and  this,  too,  had  a  beneficial  ef- 
fect on  her  niece's  nerves. 

"  She  is  certainly  better,"  Aunt  Harriet  re- 
ported to  Mrs.  Symonds. 

"  I  knew  that  before  you  came  in,"  said  Mrs. 
Symonds.  "  I  felt  that  she  responded  to  the 
treatment.  Keep  right  on.  Treat  every  one. 
That  is  the  way  to  learn.  You  are  going  to  do 
well  with  this  line  of  thought.  Don't  you  think 
you  are  ready  for  the  manuscript  lessons  ?" 

Aunt  Harriet  colored  and  hesitated. 

"  You  can  pay  when  you  feel  like  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Symonds,  generously.  "  Take  One,  Two, 


156 


and  Three  to  begin  on.     You  can  come  back  for 
the  rest  when  you  are  through." 

With  a  palpitating  heart  Aunt  Harriet  received 
One,  Two,  and  Three,  inclosed  in  huge  brown  paper 
envelopes,  and,  hurrying  home,  slipped  them  be- 
low the  mattress  of  her  bed.  Already,  volumes 
of  her  occult  library  made  bunches  beneath  her 
when  she  slept ;  but,  like  the  peas  of  penance  in 
the  shoes  of  the  monks,  they  brought  a  comfort- 
able consciousness  of  well-doing  to  soothe  the 
discomfort  they  produced.  When  Eloise  was 
busy  with  her  scholars,  for  she  had  begun  to 
teach  again,  the  little  books  came  from  their  hid- 
ing-place and  were  devoured  eagerly  by  the  new 
disciple.  The  manuscript  lessons  were  not  so 
simple  in  their  language  or  so  direct  in  their 
application.  They  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about 
the  "  First  Cause,  Unlimited,  Infinite,  and  Abso- 
lute." By-and-by  she  might  grow  up  to  these. 
The  tract  on  "No  Evil"  was  more  suited  to  her 
comprehension,  and  a  thin,  decorated  booklet  on 
"  Perpetual  Youth "  went  straight  to  her  femi- 
nine heart.  Warming  to  their  influence  she  felt 
capable  of  any  sacrifice.  She  longed  to  take  a 
stand,  to  do  something,  to  suffer  something  by 
way  of  an  initiation  into  her  new  belief.  She 
had  passed  beyond  the  attitude  of  investigation 
to  that  of  espousal — had  reached  the  state  of 
mind  which  demands  a  cathai'sis,  a  baptism. 
What  should  it  be  ?  She  had  abstained  from 
drugs  ever  since  Carl  told  her  they  belonged  to 


157 


a  lower  plane  of  thought ;  but  they  were  still 
in  her  possession.  She  opened  the  drawer  where 
they  were  kept,  and  solemnly,  as  one  looks  into 
the  face  of  the  dead,  examined  the  interior.  There 
were  bottles  innumerable  —  bottles  large  and 
round,  bottles  small  and  flat,  bottles  wrapped 
in  their  own  "directions"  like  a  mummy  in  its 
cerements,  bottles  mysteriously  dumb  as  to  their 
contents  and  significance  ;  and  there  were  boxes 
daintily  made  and  highly  ornamented  containing 
powders  of  various  colors  and  tablets  of  curious 
shape.  She  fingered  them  affectionately.  They 
were  the  silent  witnesses  to  the  long  years  during 
which,  as  Eloise  said,  "Aunt  Harriet  had  been 
addicted  to  delicate  health."  They  had  been 
"  closer  than  breathing,  nearer  than  hands  and 
feet,"  in  time  of  trial,  but  they  must  go,  every  one. 
She  gathered  them  up  in  her  skirts  and  carried 
them  to  the  open  fireplace.  The  uncertain  fate 
of  the  waste-basket  would  not  serve.  Reverent- 
ly she  poured  them  out  on  the  hearth  and  set 
them  afire.  It  was  a  heroic  deed,  and  one  which 
brought  the  light  of  determination  into  her  dim 
eyes.  Never  again  could  she  get  up  quietly  in 
the  night  for  a  Dover's  Powder  or  a  dose 
of  chloral  ;  she  must  fight  down  her  nerves 
unaided.  Never  again  could  she  indulge  her 
capricious  elderly  appetite  with  batter -pudding 
and  spice  -  cake,  relying  upon  Dr.  Kendrick's 
Dyspepsia  Pill  to  save  her  from  the  conse- 
quences of  her  reckless  act.  She  had  entered 


158 


upon  a  new  life  of  self-control  and  renuncia- 
tion. 

She  was  now  ready  to  go  forth  with  her  modest 
banner  and  convert  the  blinded  beings  who  were 
still  "sitting  in  darkness,  fast  bound  with  mis- 
ery" and  material  appliances.  The  music-teacher, 
Miss  Thompson,  was  the  first.  She  responded 
with  a  vigor  of  appreciation  that  was  appalling. 
"  I  can't  imagine  what  is  the  matter  with  Miss 
Thompson,"  said  Eloise,  wearily.  "  She  used  to 
be  satisfied  with  three  or  four  hours'  practice,  but 
now  she  is  at  it  all  day  long.  And  she  pounds 
so  ;  you  can't  get  away  from  the  sound  of  her 
exercises." 

"  Miss  Thompson  is  a  good  deal  better  than 
she  was,"  replied  Aunt  Harriet,  feeling  guilty  in 
spite  of  the  righteousness  of  the  cause. 

Miss  Thompson  herself  was  delighted.  "  I 
can  play  pieces  which  I  haven't  been  able  to 
handle  in  years — that  impromptu  of  Moszkowski's, 
for  instance.  It  used  to  tire  me  to  play  it  through 
once,  and  now  I  can  play  it  over  and  over.  It's 
a  tremendously  effective  thing."  She  declared, 
almost  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  Miss  Larra- 
bee's  little  books  gave  her  what  she  had  been 
looking  for  all  her  life.  One,  Two,  and  Three 
she  swallowed  with  avidity,  and  was  ready  for 
Four,  Five,  and  Six  as  soon  as  Miss  Larrabee 
brought  them  home.  Her  progress  made  Aunt 
Harriet  almost  jealous. 

Not  all   the  interested   individuals,  however, 


159 


were  ready  for  the  "new  thought."  More  than 
one  scoffed  openly  ;  others  led  the  devotee  on  to 
furnish  them  a  choice  variety  of  entertainment  ; 
a  few,  the  sad  and  burdened  ones,  seeking  the 
promised  "  means  of  escape,"  listened  and  ques- 
tioned and  tried  to  understand. 

If  Eloise  had  been  on  more  intimate  terms  with 
her  fellow-boarders  she  might  have  learned  earlier 
and  with  less  expenditure  of  nervous  force  the 
results  of  Aunt  Harriet's  cr.usade.  It  was  through 
the  Glenn  children,  finally,  that  her  eyes  wei'e 
opened.  Thejr  came  in  late  to  their  drawing-les- 
son, after  the  other  children  had  taken  their  places 
before  their  easels.  Millicent  had  been  crying, 
and  coughed  croupily.  Milton  had  evidently  been 
teasing  her. 

"Milton,  what  is  the  matter  Avith  Millicent?" 
asked  Eloise,  drawing  the  child  towards  her. 

"  Millicent  has  been  denying  God  !"  said  Milton, 
promptly.  "You  stop  laughing,  John  Somers,  or 
I'll  punch  your  head  when  we  get  out  of  here." 

"Milton  !"  exclaimed  Eloise,  sternly. 

"Miss  Larrabee's  doctor  said  so.  He  said  any 
one  who  was  sick  denied  God,  for  God  is  all-pow- 
erful and  He  is  good,  and  there  is  no  evil,"  re- 
peated Milton,  glibly. 

"Take  your  seat,  Milton,"  interrupted  his 
teacher,  suddenly  realizing  that  this  was  not  a 
case  for  public  examination.  "  What  could  the 
boy  mean?"  she  asked  herself,  while  she  arranged 
their  work  for  the  children,  and  directed  their 


160 


awkward  hands.  "  Who  could  Miss  Larrabee's 
doctor  be  ?"  Aunt  Harriet  had  gone  to  the  city  on 
one  of  her  peculiar,  private  expeditions.  "  Could 
it  be  that  she  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  some 
terrible  quack  ?  Was  this  the  reason  for  her  sud- 
den interest  in  something  besides*  the  bills  and 
Philip  and  selling  pictures?"  The  hour  was  a 
long  one,  but  at  last  it  came  to  an  end.  Hardly 
had  the  children  disappeared  before  there  came  a 
business-like  tap  at  the  door.  "  I've  come  to  see 
Miss  Larrabee,"  said  the  woman  who  stood  there, 
and  whom  Eloise  recognized  as  one  of  the  guests 
in  the  hotel.  "  I  want  her  to  give  me  a  '  treat- 
ment.' I  hear  from  folks  in  the  house  that  she 
has  wonderful  powers  as  a  healer.  I've  had  a 
great  deal  of  rheumatism." 

"Miss  Larrabee  is  not  at  home,"  replied  Eloise, 
stonily. 

"  Oh,  she  isn't.  Well,  when  do  you  expect 
her?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"I  want  very  much  to  see  her,"  pursued  the 
would-be  patient.  "  If  she  helps  me,  I'd  like  to 
have  my  daughter  try  her  ;  she's  been  going  to 
Dr.  Budlong  to  reduce  her  flesh." 

"  I  don't  know  when  Miss  Larrabee  will  return," 
said  Miss  Larrabee's  unhappy  niece,  and,  like  a 
haughty  princess,  bowed  the  intruder  from  the 
door. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Harriet,"  she  cried,  reproachfully, 
as  the  culprit  returned,  flushed  and  buoyant,  car- 


161 


vying  Seven,  Eight,  and  Nine  under  her  shawl, 
"what  have  you  been  doing?  What  dreadful 
things  do  I  hear  about  you  !" 

"  Now,  Eloise,"  replied  her  aunt,  seeing  the  rack 
before  her,  but  determined  not  to  apostatize. 
Her  heart  beat  so  stormily  that  it  seemed  to  her 
to  threaten  to  tear  its  way  through  her  side,  but 
she  stood  her  ground.  She  began  again,  firmly  : 
"Now, Eloise, don't  talk  like  that  about  what  has 
saved  your  life  !" 

"  Saved  my  life  !"  repeated  Eloise,  bewildered. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Can  you  forget  how  you  were  four  or  five 
weeks  ago  ?  And  see  how  you  are  now  !" 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  demanded 
Eloise,  almost  fiercely. 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  Dr.  Symonds  and  Carl, 
and — me,"  replied  Aunt  Harriet,  solemnly,  "  you 
would  not  be  where  you  are  to-day." 

"Why,  Aunt  Harriet,  are  you  crazy?"  ex- 
claimed her  niece.  "  I  never  saw  Dr.  Symonds, 
and  Carl  I  seldom  see  nowadays.  I  don't  know 
what  }'ou  have  been  trying  to  do  to  me." 

"  We  have  all  been  treating  you  ever  since  I 
went  down  to  hear  Dr.  Symonds  preach,  six  weeks 
ago,"  said  her  aunt,  "and  every  one  in  the  house 
has  noticed  how  you  have  gained  ;  that  is  why 
they  all  want  me  to  treat  them." 

Eloise  stood  speechless  with  amazement.  Of 
all  the  irritating  surprises  of  the  morning,  this 
was  the  crown.  To  hear  that  Aunt  Harriet  was 


102 


in  collusion  with  a  lot  of  fanatics,  recommending 
their  "  science  "  to  her  friends,  was  like  a  blow 
between  the  eyes,  but  the  news  which  had  fol- 
lowed was  even  more  crushing.  Aunt  Harriet  as 
a  healer  !  Aunt  Harriet  holding  up  her  innocent 
and  unconscious  niece  as  an  instance  of  her  own 
extraordinary  power  !  She  rapidly  reviewed  in 
her  mind  the  experiences  of  the  past  few  weeks  ; 
so  this  was  the  explanation  of  Aunt  Harriet's  se- 
renity and  poise,  and  of  her  indulgent  attitude 
towards  herself.  No  one  enjoys  being  deceived, 
even  for  one's  own  benefit.  Eloise  felt  betrayed 
and  entrapped  ;  she  whirled  in  a  passion  of  anger 
and  left  the  room.  Aunt  Harriet,  more  disturbed 
than  she  was  willing  to  admit,  went  to  put  away 
Seven,  Eight,  and  Nine.  Her  first  impulse  was 
to  bestow  them  under  the  bed,  but  remembering 
that  there  was  no  longer  a  cause  for  concealment 
she  laid  them  on  the  table,  with  a  sigh. 

The  days  which  ensued  were  trying  to  both. 
Suspicious  of  the  psychic  attentions  of  Aunt  Har- 
riet and  her  friends,  Eloise  felt  like  inviting  a  re- 
lapse by  way  of  defiance  ;  but  then  they  would 
say  it  was  because  she  had  rebelled  against  their 
influence.  Either  way,  they  had  her  at  a  disad- 
vantage. She  was  not  fighting  against  flesh  and 
blood,  but  against  principalities  and  "powers." 
She  told  herself  that  she  did  not  believe  a  word 
they  said,  but  their  absolute  confidence  in  their 
methods  filled  her  with  superstitious  tremors ;  and 
they  were  so  absurdly  satisfied,  so  inanely  cheer- 


163 


ful — Mrs.  Glenn  among  the  rest  !  "  I  thought 
you  had  more  sense,"  Eloise  said  to  her. 

"You  don't  understand,  my  dear,"  her  friend 
returned,  indulgently.  "If  you  had  seen  Milli- 
cent  fall  off  to  sleep,  bathed  in  perspiration  and 
the  fever  all  gone,  you  would  have  felt,  as  I  did, 
there  is  something  here  which  we  want  for  ourselves 
and  our  children" 

Eloise  made  no  reply.  When  Mrs.  Glenn  in- 
trenched herself  behind  her  maternal  duties  the 
solitary  maiden  felt  that  she  was  outside  the  debate. 

Meanwhile,  Aunt  Harriet's  little  bedroom  bid 
fair  to  be  turned  into  a  consultation  office.  The 
woman  with  rheumatism  came,  and  her  daughter 
came,  and  there  were  other  patients  also.  In  vain 
Eloise  expostulated.  Aunt  Harriet  had  emerged 
from  the  cocoon  of  her  former  existence  ;  it  was 
impossible  to  pack  the  gauzy  wings  of  her  new 
ambitions  and  desires  again  in  that  limited  space. 
Just  as  Eloise  felt  that  she  could  no  longer  endure 
the  changed  appearance  of  her  surroundings,  the 
broad  face  of  Mrs.  Harwood  arose  like  a  shining 
sun  on  the  horizon.  "  Why,  yes,  didn't  you  get 
my  letter?"  she  inquired,  cordially.  "Dan'l's 
cousin's  wife's  died  and  left  us  his  place  up  on 
Seventy-fifth  Street.  We've  rented  the  farm,  and 
have  come  to  Chicago  to  live." 

"  Thank  God  !"  cried  Eloise,  clinging  to  her. 
"  Mrs.  Harwood,  the  world's  upsidedown,  and  my 
head  has  commenced  to  turn.  Now  you've  come, 
I  can  keep  it  from  going  over." 


XIX 

"  WHAT  on  earth  do  you  mean,  child  ?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Harwood,  anxiously,  for  Eloise  clung 
to  her,  half  laughing,  half  crying.  "  Is  your  aunt 
sick  ?" 

"  No  ;  she's  never  going  to  be  sick  any  more," 
replied  Eloise,  with  a  forlorn  laugh. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Aunt  Harriet  has  joined  some  religious  body 
— people  who  believe  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
sickness.  They're  just  like  children  ;  they  make 
believe  they  are  well,  and  that  they  have  money 
and  are  happy — but  that  is  easier.  Happiness  is 
mostly  make-believe,  anyway." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  the  Christian  Scientists,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Harwood,  settling  back  in  her  chair 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  They  won't  hurt  her. 
Let  her  go  it." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Harwood,"  persisted  Eloise,  "  they're 
dreadful.  They  come  to  Aunt  Harriet  for  '  treat- 
ment,' as  they  call  it." 

"Who,  the  Scientists?" 

"  No  ;  the  guests  in  the  house." 

Mrs.  Harwood  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed 
heartily. 


165 


Eloise  looked  disconcerted. 

"  I  can't  help  it ;  it  is  too  good  a  joke.  The 
idea  of  their  coming  to  her  !" 

"  She  said  she  and  her  friends  cured  me,"  pur- 
sued Eloise,  ruefully. 

"  What  if  they  did  and  what  if  they  didn't  ?" 
returned  Mrs.  Harwood,  coolly.  "  You're  well, 
ain't  you  ?  What  do  you  care  how  you  got 
there  ?" 

This  was  an  entirely  new  aspect  of  the  ques- 
tion for  Eloise.  She  had  no  answer  ready. 

"  Look  a-here,  child,"  said  the  elder  woman, 
laying  her  rough  hand  affectionately  on  the  girl's 
knee,  "  I  got  my  lesson  about  interfering  with 
what  doesn't  concern  me  three  years  ago  come 
summer,  and  I  got  it  by  making  a  fool  of  myself. 
I  didn't  know  it,  either,  until  the  next  winter, 
when  I  was  studying  art,  getting  ready  for  the 
Fair,  and  then  it  came  over  me  all  of  a  sudden. 
/  The  very  things  I  had  rooted  out  of  one  garden 
I  was  cultivating  in  another.  First  time  I  called 
'em  weeds  ;  now  they  were  flowers.  It  made  me 
hot  all  over.  Since  then  I've  let  alone  what  I 
didn't  understand." 

Eloise  caught  the  hand  upon  her  knee  and 
pressed  it. 

"  All  I  want  to  say,"  concluded  the  visitor,  "is 
v  this  :  don't  be  in  too  big  a  hurry,  and  don't  stick 
;  your  elbows  out ;  give  other  folks  their  half  of 
the  road.  Where  is  Miss  Larrabee  ?" 

"  Gone  off  on  some  mysterious  errand,"  pouted 


166 


Eloise.  "I  never  know  what  she's  doing,  and 
she  used  to  think  she  couldn't,  make  a  move  with- 
out consulting  me." 

"  She  used  to  live  and  breathe  through  you, 
that's  a  fact,"  replied  Mrs.  Harwood.  "  She's 
beginning  to  find  out  she  has  got  lungs  of  her 
own." 

Eloise  gave  her  a  quick  glance. 

"  Oh,  I've  learned  some  things  besides  letting 
other  folks's  pictures  alone.  When  I  broke  my 
wrist  I  had  to  sit  down  and  give  up  the  respon- 
sibility of  running  the  universe.  I  found  it  went 
right  along.  I  fretted  and  stewed  for  a  while, 
because  I  couldn't  make  folks  see  there  wasn't 
any  way  but  mine  ;  but  I  couldn't,  so  that  was 
the  end  of  it.  Things  turned  out  about  the  same 
in  the  end.  I  must  go." 

"  Don't,"  implored  Eloise. 

"  Dan'l  will  think  I'm  lost." 

"  How  is  he  ?"  inquired  Eloise. 

"Just  the  same,"  replied  DanTs  wife,  "and 
always  will  be.  What  do  you  hear  from  Mr. 
More  ?" 

Eloise  colored.  "We  haven't  been  writing 
very  regularly.  He  was  well  when  I  heard  last. 
I  will  go  over  to  the  station  with  you." 

They  encountered  Mrs.  Glenn  in  the  hall,  and 
stopped  so  long  to  talk  with  her  that  Mrs.  liar- 
wood  lost  her  train. 

"  I  won't  go  back,"  she  said,  sinking  into  a 
large  rocking-chair  which  faced  the  hotel  clock. 


167 


"  I  know  you  don't  like  to  sit  down  here,  but — 
why,  there's  Mr..  Heffron  !  Is  he  stopping 
here  ?" 

Eloise  started.  Yes,  it  certainly  was  Mark 
Heffron,  talking  with  the  hotel  clerk,  who  opened 
the  register  and  showed  him  the  list  of  names. 

O 

Mark  wrote  on  a  card  and  handed  it  to  him,  then 
came  towards  them.  He  started  in  his  turn  when 
he  confronted  Eloise  Gordon,  whom  he  had  not 
met  since  that  eventful  summer  at  Beau  Lieu. 
If  either  of  them  had  anticipated  a  meeting, 
neither  had  thought  of  it  as  taking  place  in  the 
rotunda  of  the  Lake  View  Hotel.  But  they  did 
what  any  other  well-bred  individuals  would  have 
done  under  similar  circumstances — shook  hands 
and  asked  each  other  the  usual  questions.  Mark 
explained  that  he  was  looking  for  his  cousin's 
wife,  who  wrote  him  she  would  be  at  the  Lake 
View,  but  had  failed  to  keep  her  appointment, 
and  Eloise  proclaimed  herself  an  old  resident 
of  the  place.  Mrs.  Harwood  he  remembered  at 
Beau  Lieu. 

Then  who  should  come  in  but  Aunt  Harriet 
with  her  bonnet  askew  from  an  encounter  with 
the  wind,  but  looking  so  bright  and  satisfied  that' 
Mark  scrutinized  her  curiously.  Taught  by  her 
new  philosophy  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  and 
live  in  charity  with  all  men,  she  greeted  her 
quondam  enemy  as  if  they  had  been  dear  friends 
separated  against  their  will.  This  was  more  of 
a  surprise  than  her  color  and  briskness  ;  but  Mark 


108 


met  her  half-way,  and  when  she  urged  him  to 
call  declared  that  nothing  would  suit  him  better. 

The  next  train  south  would  be  due  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  as  Mark  had  plenty  of  time  to  put 
Mrs.  Harwood  aboard  before  he  started  for  town, 
they  left  together,  watched  from  the  doorway  by 
Eloise  and  her  aunt. 

"  How  queer  everything  looks !"  exclaimed 
Aunt  Harriet.  "  I  should  say  there  was  going 
to  be  a  wind-storm." 

Eloise  hurried  up  into  the  studio  and  flung 
open  the  window  overlooking  the  lake.  It  re- 
flected the  dull  gloom  of  the  sky.  A  thin  strip 
of  silver  ran  around  the  horizon  between  them. 

The  ships  in  the  bay  stood  like  phantom  ships, 
motionless,  with  close -furled  sails.  The  dark 
masses  of  water  around  them  and  the  dense 
clouds  ovei-head  appeared  to  be  strewn  with 
ashes.  On  the  shore  not  a  leaf  stirred.  The 
trees  seemed  stiffened  by  fear.  Everywhere 
there  was  an  ominous  silence,  a  tension  as  of  a 
wild  beast  about  to  spring.  She  watched  until 
the  storm  broke  with  a  noise  like  the  rending  of 
stone  walls  and  the  outward  rush  of  armed  hosts. 
There  was  no  rain,  but  the  air  was  thick  with 
flying  dust  and  spray,  and  with  debris  caught  up 
from  the  streets.  She  was  forced  to  close  the 
window,  and  tried  in  vain  to  peer  through  the 
whirling  chaos  outside. 

By  and  by  Aunt  Harriet  came  in,  full  of  stories 
told  by  those  who  had  been  caught  in  the  storm. 


169 


"  I  hope  Mrs.  Harwood  escaped,"  said  Eloise, 
anxiously. 

"  She  had  probably  reached  home,"  replied  Aunt 
Harriet,  "  before  the  worst ;  but  Mr.  Heffron 
must  have  landed  in  the  midst  of  it." 

All  night  the  tempest  raged.  It  was  impossi- 
ble to  sleep.  The  roar  of  the  waves  was  like  the 
continual  thunder  of  artillery.  In  the  morning 
there  was  comparative  calm  on  shore,  but  the 
lake  had  been  stirred  to  its  depths.  Every  one 
went  out  to  see  the  waves,  which  ran  lightly  along 
the  pier  and  sprang  high  in  air.  "Like  a  sportive 
mermaid,"  said  Eloise. 

"Not  so  innocent  as  that,"  returned  Mr.  Arm- 
strong, who  accompanied  her.  "  Those  beautiful 
things  have  done  an  incredible  amount  of  damage 
since  we  saw  them  last.  Boats  were  coming 
ashore  at  Twenty-second  Street  all  night,  I  hear." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  with  bright  round  eyes 
in  which  there  was  no  horror,  only  an  intense  in- 
terest. "  Oh,  I  should  dearly  love  to  see  a  wreck  !" 
she  exclaimed. 

"It  would  give  me  pleasure  to  take  you  down 
there,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  cannot  remain 
long,"  said  her  escort,  politely. 

"I  am  used  to  being  alone,"  she  responded, 
carelessly.  "  Wait,  please,  until  I  get  a  heavy 
cloak." 

The  train  was  crowded  and  ran  -slowly,  as  if  to 
give  the  patrons  an  opportunity  to  view  the  wild 
scenes  along  the  route.  There  were  continual 


170 


ejaculations,  "Look  !  See  there  !"  and  men  and 
women  started  from  their  seats,  as  with  rhyth- 
mic regularity  the  incoming  wave  ran  along  the 
breakwater  and  reared  a  tower  of  foam  far  above 
their  heads.  The  breakwater  had  given  way 
here  and  there  ;  and  mingled  with  its  ruin  were 
broken  masts  and  wrecked  cordage  and  pieces 
of  hulls  torn  to  splinters,  as  if  some  monster  had 
chewed  them  and  spit  them  out.  Over  them 
frisked  the  untamed,  untamable  element;  it  was 
about  its  own  business,  in  a  savage  play,  building 
beautiful  forms  only  to  destroy  them.  Without 
life  as  we  know  life,  without  death  as  we  know 
death,  yet  with  the  pulse  of  life  and  the  coldness 
of  death  it  went  on,  leaping  and  shining  and  toss- 
ing ashore  whatever  had  been  intrusted  to  it, 
ships  and  cargoes  and  bodies  from  which  it  had 
beaten  the  breath. 

"Many  of  the  boats  put  out  to  sea  to  avoid 
being  pounded  to  pieces,"  explained  Armstrong. 
"But,  I  declare,  there's  a  schooner  on  her  beam- 
ends.  You  will  have  your  wish.  We  will  get  off 
here." 

They  perched  themselves  on  a  pile  of  timber 
commanding  the  lake.  The  wreck  was  in  plain 
sight.  They  counted  the  men  clinging  to  her 
side  ;  there  were  eight  of  them.  The  crowds  on 
the  shore  were  gesticulating  wildly,  and  shouting 
all  sorts  of  advice  which  could  not  possibly  be 
heard  above  the  breakers.  After  a  while  there 
was  a  movement  among  the  men  on  the  schooner ; 


171 


they  were  trying  to  throw  a  rope  ashore.  Again 
and  again  their  efforts  were  ineffectual.  At  last 
it  was  caught  by  the  men  on  shore,  and  a  shout 
went  up  which  must  have  made  itself  heard  above 
the  roar  of  wind  and  wave.  Then,  one  by  one, 
the  shipwrecked  sailors  came  ashore,  and  as  each 
one  landed  that  exulting  shout  went  up. 

"  Quite  a  sight !"  commented  Mark  Heffron, 
tiptoeing  over  the  rails  to  the  place  where  Eloise 
sat.  Mr.  Armstrong  had  just  left  her. 

"Isn't  it?"  she  responded,  her  face  aglow. 

"You  must  paint  this  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"Do  you  think  I  can?" 

"  Of  course  you  can.  I  won't  give  you  any 
peace  until  you  do.  Look  at  those  men  hug  each 
other  !  He's  the  last  !" 

They  went  home  together,  and  Mark  stayed  to 
luncheon.  In  the  evening  Carl  came,  looking  very 
sober.  He  had  been  watching  the  wrecks  all  day. 
"  Some  of  you  people  who  have  such  extraordinary 
power  ought  to  get  together  and  pray  down  the 
wind,"  said  Eloise,  mockingly.  But  Carl  did  not 
even  smile.  "It  ought  to  be  possible,"  he  said, 
soberly. 

The  next  morning  was  calm  and  lovely.  Eloise 
sat  down  before  her  easel,  determined,  if  possible, 
to  reproduce  the  scenes  of  the  preceding  day.  She 
painted  all  day,  and  for  many  subsequent  days, 
whenever  she  had  an  hour  to  spare.  "  But  it 
isn't  good,"  she  told  Mark  Heffron  when  he  in- 
quired how  the  picture  was  getting  on. 


172 


"  Let  me  see  it,"  he  urged,  and  after  some  de- 
mur she  placed  it  before  him. 

He  regarded  it  thoughtfully.  "  I  don't  know 
what  the  trouble  is,"  he  said,  at  length  ;  "the  per- 
spective is  all  right,  the  figures  are  good,  the  wa- 
ter is  superb.  But  somehow  I  feel  as  if  you  did 
not  mean  it." 

"I  don't,"  replied  Eloise,  frankly.  "I  wanted 
to.  I  felt  it,  in  a  way,  as  one  feels  the  scenes  on 
the  stage  ;  but  not  as  if  I  were  a  part  of  it." 

Neither  spoke  for  some  minutes,  and  then 
Eloise  began  again,  "I  wonder  about  this  instinct 
for  saving.  I  suppose  it  is  a  purely  natural  in- 
stinct. Dogs  have  it,  without  being  trained. 
How  eager  they  were  !  Any  one  would  think 
they  and  the  shipwrecked  men  were  brothers." 

"Yes,  I  saw  them,"  replied  Mark,  quickly. 
"They'll  knock  each  other  over  just  as  readily 
to-morrow,  if  they  disagree,  or  cut  each  other's 
throats  in  a  bargain.  That's  an  instinct,  too." 


XX 


"THAT  Hindoo  blackamoor  started  it,"  began 
Uncle  Oliver,  recklessly,  "tellin'  his  yarns  about 
folks  goin'  down  to  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  and 
peelin'  off  their  bodies  like  a  suit  of  old  clothes, 
holdin'  up  such  doin's  ahead  of  plain,  common- 
sense,  American  livin'.  Half  the  town  went  chas- 
in'  after  him.  Then  came  that  Miss  Duvray  with 
a  rigmarole  about  the  color  of  a  tone  and  the 
heft  of  a  gesture.  Whoop-halloo,  off  they  went 
after  her  !  Then  a  feller  down  at  the  Enterprise 
had  'em  stuck  on  the  power  of  mind /  he  ex- 
plained the  miracles  so  that  any  child  could  work 
'em.  They  f  ollered  him  up.  Now,  here's  Nellie 
Heffron  ;  she's  got  the  whole  business,  and  fort- 
une-tellin'  to  boot.  They'll  tag  along  behind  her 
just  as  they  have  behind  the  others.  Crazy  as 
loons,  the  whole  caboodle  !" 

The  Ross  girls,  sitting  in  a  row  before  him, 
looked  mutinous,  but  said  nothing. 

"  It  is  so,"  exclaimed  their  uncle,  as  positively 
as  if  they  had  contradicted  him.  "  When  I  was 
young,  girls  wanted  a  real  live  male  man." 

"Oh!" 

"  Oh  !" 


174 


"  Oh  !"  interrupted  the  three  maidens,  several- 
ly ;  and  then  they  exclaimed  together,  "  Uncle 
Oliver !" 

"They  did,"  replied  the  old  man,  doggedly. 
"  But  now  there's  a  premium  put  on  the  most  on- 
natural,  nondescript  kind  of  an  animal  that  can  be 
turned  out.  Let  a  feller  come  along  who  belongs 
to  an  Order  or  a  Brotherhood,  and  who  sets  up  to 
teach  men  there's  a  better  way  to  live  than  to  go 
straight  ahead,  tend  to  business,  and  look  out 
for  their  families,  then  the  girls  sit  down  at  his 
feet  an'  worship.  Here's  this  Hindoo,  told  me 
he  hadn't  written  to  his  own  mother  for  seven 
years  !" 

"But,  Uncle  Oliver,  when  he  broke  those  fam- 
ily ties  it  was  to  take  upon  himself  larger  re- 
sponsibilities," vouchsafed  Julia,  with  dignity. 
"There  are  plenty  to  fulfil  the  family  relation; 
there  are  few,  like  Haridass,  who  assume  the  mis- 
sion of  saving  souls." 

"  He  needn't  trouble  himself  about  mine,"  re- 
turned Uncle  Oliver,  flippantly.  "  I  don't  want 
any  one  pullin'  an'  haulin'  to  keep  me  out  of 
hell.  I'll  settle  my  own  account  with  Him  that 
made  me." 

Maud  gave  Julia  a  significant  look.  Mary 
opened  her  mouth  to  say  something,  but  her  uncle 
continued,  "  What's  more,  I  don't  think  that  fel- 
ler's so  all-fired  spiritooal  as  you  girls  try  to  make 
out.  I  noticed  he  knew  how  to  make  himself  as 
comfortable  as  the  next  one,  and  he  didn't  spend 


175 


much  of  his  time  fastin'  an'  prayin'.  There's  just 
one  thing  about  it,"  and  here  he  brought  the  fist 
of  one  knotty  hand  into  the  palm  of  the  other 
with  a  crack  like  that  of  a  pistol — "there's  just 
one  thing  about  it :  when  he  comes  back  next 
month,  as  you  say  he's  goin'  to,  I  don't  want  you 
girls  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him.  As  to 
your  entertaining  him,  it  is  out  of  the  question. 
I  won't  have  it." 

No\v,  whatever  the  Ross  girls  had  of  earthly 
possessions  was  under  Uncle  Oliver's  care,  and, 
deeply  as  they  were  interested  in  the  unearth- 
ly goods  offered  by  Haridass,  they  knew  it  never 
would  do  to  sacrifice  the  one  to  the  other.  They 
temporized.  Julia  leaned  forward  in  her  chair 
with  a  constrained  smile,  and  said,  soothingly  : 

"Don't  you  think  you  are  a  little  unreasonable, 
Uncle  Oliver?  Merely  because  you  and  Haridass 
differ  on  certain  points  of  religious  belief,  are  you 
going  to  forbid  us  to  speak  to  him  ?" 

"  'Tain't  that,"  returned  Uncle  Oliver,  bluntly. 
"  I've  heard  things  that  have  been  said.  I  ain't 
goin'  to  repeat  them,  but  they  made  me  mad  clear 
through.  He's  no  gentleman  ;  that's  enough  !" 

Here  Maud  took  up  the  cudgels  for  the  absent 
prophet.  "  Uncle  Oliver,  that  is  a  serious  charge," 
she  began,  in  her  high,  clear  voice,  "  and  one  that 
must  be  proved  or — or  rejected." 

"  Oh,  I  can  prove  it,"  retorted  her  uncle. 

"  Then  Avhy  don't  you  ?"  replied  Maud,  flushing 
vividly. 


176 


"You  surely  cannot  expect  us  to  accept  the 
statement  without  any  further  testimony,"  said 
Julia,  who  was  of  a  judicial  cast  of  mind. 

Mary  glanced  furtively  from  one  sister  to  the 
other. 

"Well,  if  you  will  have  it,"  cried  Uncle  Oli- 
ver, desperately — "  no,  I  won't  tell  you.  You  can 
take  my  word  or  go  without."  He  took  his  hat 
and  cane  and  tramped  sturdily  out  of  the  house, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left  until 
he  ran  against  another  man  equally  unmindful  of 
his  way. 

"Beg  your  pardon,"  he  began,  bluffly — "why, 
hullo,  Jim  !  Goin'  over  to  the  house  ?" 

Dr.  Humphrey  stopped  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  No,  I  wasn't.     Any  one  sick  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  sick,  but — " 

"What  is  the  trouble?" 

Uncle  Oliver  coughed  and  swallowed  and  hesi- 
tated, but  finally  let  out  the  story  of  the  morning. 

Humphrey  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  so 
heartily  that  the  story-teller  laughed,  too. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  was,"  he  went  on,  in  a 
burst  of  confidence.  "An  acquaintance  of  mine 
met  that  feller  on  the  street  in  Boston,  and  gave 
him  some  messages  from  folks  here,  our  girls 
among  the  rest.  Mr.  Hindoo  seemed  to  find  it 
hard  to  remember  who  the  Rosses  were.  At  last 
he  says, '  Oh  yes,  those  old  maids  !'  And  he  had 
lived  on  their  bounty  for  three  months  !  They 
did  everything  for  that  feller." 


177 


"I  know  they  did,"  returned  Humphrey;  "but, 
perhaps,"  he  added,  slyly,  "Haridass  found  it 
hard  to  express  himself  in  English.  Doubtless, 
in  his  own  language,  the  remark  would  have  read 
like  a  compliment.  You  know  he  thinks  the  sin- 
gle state  is  one  of  blessedness." 

"Ye-es,  they've  got  it  all  fixed  up — no  marry- 
in'  and  no  medicine.  I  hear  they're  cutting  into 
your  practice  some,  especially  that  preacher  at  the 
Enterprise." 

"  He  did,"  responded  Humphrey,  with  a  shrug, 
"  until  I  went  down  and  found  out  how  he  did  it." 

"By  George,  that  was  a  slick  deal!  But  how 
about  Bering  ?" 

"  Carl  has  to  learn  his  own  lessons,"  answered 
Humphrey,  shortly.  "  He  tried  to  teach  me  mine, 
what  was  more.  I  thought  we'd  better  separate. 
Carl's  brainy,  but  he  don't  know  as  much  as  he 
will  some  time.  He's  hardly  the  make-up  for  a 
doctor.  I  opposed  his  going  into  medicine,  but 
his  mother  had  her  heart  set  on  it.  She's  as  super- 
stitious for  the  profession  as  he  is  against  it." 

"  You  don't  mean  he's  gone  back  on  the  pro- 
fession ?" 

Humphrey  shrugged  his  shoulders  again,  and 
lifted  his  eyebrows  significantly. 

"Humph!"  ejaculated  Uncle  Oliver.  "What 
in  thunder  is  he  livin'  on?" 

"  On  the  proceeds  of  his  outfit,  I  suppose." 

"  Sold  out  ?"  gasped  Uncle  Oliver. 

"Everything;    he   had   some  wild   notion    of 
12 


178 


throwing  the  things  into  the  lake.  He  said  they 
would  do  more  harm  than  good;  that  as  long  as 
people  were  in  bondage  to  the  material,  the  spir- 
itual would  have  no  opportunity  for  develop- 
ment." 

"  The  spiritooal !"  shouted  Uncle  Oliver.  "  I 
want  to  swear!  I'll  go  to  Dering  myself — I'll — 
hullo,  here's  Mark  Heffron  !  Don't  you  know 
Mark?  He's  a  sort  of  a  cousin  of  mine.  Dr. 
Humphrey,  Mark.  By  George,  I'm  glad  to  see 
you,  Mark  !  I've  got  some  work  for  you  to  do. 
Excuse  me,  Jim,  I've  got  to  see  Mark  on  busi- 
ness." 

"  What's  up  ?"  asked  Mark,  as  the  two  men 
left  Humphrey  and  walked  on  by  themselves. 

"  Everything  ;  that  Hindoo  fakir's  been  sassin' 
my  girls,  and  Carl  Dering's  thrown  up  his  job, 
and  Nellie  Heffron's  holdin'  forth  on  occultism — 
every  one's  goin'  straight  to  the  devil !" 

"They  think  they're  going  the  other  way,"  re- 
sponded Mark. 

"  Carl's  as  nice  a  boy  as  ever  lived,"  continued 
Uncle  Oliver, disregarding  the  interruption,  "but 
away  up  in  the  clouds — his  mother's  that  way;  I 
used  to  know  his  mother  when  she  lived  in  Kan- 
kakee.  These  folks  have  got  hold  of  him — that 
Miss  Duvray's  at  the  bottom  of  it — and  he's  given 
up  a  splendid  opening  with  Humphrey — that  I 
was  talkin'  with  when  you  came  along.  I  want 
you  to  see  Carl  and  have  a  good  talk  with  him, 
and  you  must  see  Nell.  Perhaps  you  had  bet- 


179 


ter  begin  with  her,  as  long  as  she's  in  the 
family." 

"  And  after  I'm  through  with  Nellie  and  young 
Dering  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  have  me  drop  in 
and  straighten  out  your  nieces,"  suggested  Ma^k. 

"  "IVould  take  more'n  one  of  you  to  do  that," 
replied  their  uncle.  "I'll  let  you  off  on  the  girls 
if  you'll  fix  up  Carl  and  Nellie." 

"  I  went  out  to  the  Lake  View  to  see  Nellie 
yesterday,"  said  Mark.  "  She  wrote  me  she  would 
be  there ;  but  they  had  heard  nothing  from  her." 

"  No ;  the  Lake  View  isn't  grand  enough,"  ex- 
claimed Uncle  Oliver,  with  an  important  sweep  of 
his  arm.  "She's  at  the  Cynthia  —  five  rooms, 
French  maid,  the  whole  outfit ;  she's  done  well  at 
this  business."  There  was  a  regretful  pride  in  his 
voice. 

"Nell's  as  bright  as  a  new  pin,"  laughed  his 
companion.  "  She'd  do  well  at  anything.  Have 
you  been  to  any  of  her  lectures  ?" 

"One  of  them,"  replied  Uncle  Oliver,  looking 
sheepish.  "I  wanted  to  see  what  she's  up  to?" 

"  How  did  she  look  ?    What  did  she  do  ?" 

"Oh,  she  was  all  togged  out,  with  a  big  round 
pin  as  big  as  a  tea-saucer  under  her  chin  and  a 
great  long  chain  of  these  amethysts  around  her 
neck  ;  she  says  they  have  the  same  vibrations 
that  she  does." 

Mark  laughed. 

"  Well,  whatever  she  says  goes,"  pursued  the 
speaker.  "There  was  a  whole  roomful  of  folks — 


180 


nice  folks,  too — and  they  swallowed  every  word 
she  said.  She  arranged  them  according  to  their 
planets  —  Earth,  Air,  Fire,  and  Water  folks  to- 
gether ;  that  was  on  account  of  the  vibrations, 
to*>.  Oh,  I  can't  begin  to  tell  what  she  did.  She 
got  'era  all  a-breathin'  together,  timed  'era,  movin' 
her  hand  up  and  down,  so.  You  could  have  heard 
'era  breathe  half  a  mile  off.  One  old  gal  liked  it 
so  well  she  wouldn't  stop.  I  asked  her  some  ques- 
tions, and  it  made  her  kinder  mad.  She  kept  on 
snoring  and  wouldn't  say  a  word." 

"You  excite  my  curiosity,"  cried  Mark.  "I 
shall  certainly  have  to  look  her  up."  He  took 
out  his  watch.  "  I  wonder  if  she  would  see  me 
now.  I'll  try  it,  anyway." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Uncle  Oliver,  who 
shook  it  warmly,  saying,  "  Drop  into  the  office 
and  tell  me  how  things  are." 

"I  can't  do  it — that  is,  not  until  late.  Are  you 
in  the  office  after  four  o'clock?" 

"  After  four  o'clock  !"  sniffed  the  other.  "  This 
isn't  New  York.  We  don't  crawl  down  to  our 
work  at  ten  and  dig  out  at  three  ;  we  begin  work 
at  seven  in  Chicago  and  keep  it  up  until  six. 
Good-bye." 

Madame  Heffron  was  in,  but  was  engaged. 
Would  the  gentleman  please  be  seated,  and  when 
madame  was  disengaged  she  would  see  him. 
Mark  obeyed,  making  himself  comfortable  in  a 
huge  cushioned  chair  by  the  window,  while  the 
maid  withdrew  again  to  the  outer  room.  The 


181 


last  time  lie  had  seen  Nellie  Heffron  was  soon 
after  Jack's  death.  She  had  refused  all  offers  of 
assistance  then,  although  every  one  knew  that  she 
was  in  a  tight  place.  "  I  don't  want  any  help  from 
you  Heffrons,"  she  had  said,  "nor  from  my  people 
either.  You  called  my  poor  Jack  worthless  be- 
cause his  Avill  was  not  as  strong  as  yours  ;  I'll  pay 
his  debts  myself."  And  she  had  done  so,  teach- 
ing music,  and  singing  in  a  church  at  Columbus, 
where  she  lived.  He  had  heard  from  her,  now 
and  then,  thanking  him  for  the  music  he  sent 
her  ;  but  when  he  attempted  to  pay  a  bill  of 
Jack's  she  promptly  returned  the  amount. 

He  mused  thus,  looking  out  upon  the  park, 
where  the  trees  were  beginning  to  show  the  misty 
green  of  early  spring  foliage.  Presently  he  heard 
voices  in  an  adjoining  room,  and,  glancing  in  the 
direction  whence  they  came,  saw  the  high-priestess 
herself  seated  in  a  big  arm-chair,  and  receiving 
the  confidences  of  a  girlish  devotee  who  knelt 
on  a  cushion  before  her.  Yes,  that  was  Nell ;  he 
recognized  her  wealth  of  golden  hair  and  her 
plump  shoulders. 

"  Let  me  look  into  your  eyes,"  she  was  saying 
to  the  young  woman  at  her  feet.  "  Yes,  you  have 
more  poise.  You  are  learning  the  secret.  Keep 
on  with  your  exercises,  the  breathing  and  the 
recitations.  I  will  see  you  again." 

With  an  impressive  gesture  she  dismissed  her 
pupil  by  a  side  door,  and  turned  to  the  room  where 
Mark  was  waiting. 


182 


"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said,  extending 
both  hands.  "When  did  you  come?  How  did 
you  know  where  to  find  me  ?" 

"No  thanks  to  you,"  he  answered,  returning 
the  pressure  of  her  large,  strong  hands.  "I  went 
out  to  the  Lake  View,  but — " 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  laugh.  "  You  poor 
fellow  !"  she  exclaimed,  caressingly.  "  It  was  a 
shame  to  send  you  on  a  wild-goose  chase.  I 
found  the  Cynthia  more  accessible,  and  since  I 
came  here  I  have  been  busy  every  minute." 

"So  I  understand.  I  didn't  know  as  I  could 
even  get  a  glimpse  of  you  for  the  crowd." 

"I  don't  have  a  minute  to  myself,"  rejoined 
Nellie,  with  a  satisfied  sigh.  "There  are  people 
here  all  the  time,  and  really  they  take  hold  of  it 
very  well." 

"  Have  you  any  of  '  it '  on  hand  ?"  asked  Mark, 
quizzically.  "Could  you  let  a  dog  of  an  unbe- 
liever get  a  scent  of  what  '  it '  is  ?" 

"  Now,  see  here,  Mark  Heffron,"  returned  Nel- 
lie, sharply,  "you  needn't  pretend  to  be  so  igno- 
rant and  unconcerned.  You  were  the  first  to  put 
me  on  to  these  things,  years*ago." 

"  O  Lord  !"  ejaculated  Mark,  "  here's  another  ! 
This  time  I'll  find  out  what  'it'is.  Nell,  for 
pity's  sake,  what  form  of  '  it '  did  I  ever  have  any 
dealings  with?" 

His  cousin's  wife  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 
"  Upon  my  word,"  she  cried,  "  I  don't  believe  you 
remember  a  thing !" 


183 


"  I  don't,  upon  my  word." 

"  You  don't  remember  coming  to  our  house  in 
Columbus  one  summer  when  Jack  had  gone  off  on 
a — a — time,  and  finding  me  all  used  up  and  crying 
my  heart  out  ?  And  you  gave  me  a  lot  of  books 
to  read:  Cornelius  Agrippa  and  Paracelsus  and 
Jacob  fioehme  and — " 

"  A  light  breaks  in  upon  me  !  Poor  little  Nell, 
she  sat  down  with  the  whole  batch  in  her  apron, 
and  the  fire  went  out  in  the  kitchen  stove  and  I 
got  no  dinner." 

"  Of  coarse  you  remember  that  part,  being  a 
man,"  she  retaliated,  adding,  earnestly,  "Mark, 
those  books  kept  me  from  going  mad.  More- 
over, they  helped  me  to  pay  up  the  old  debts, 
and—" 

"I  tried  to  help  you  pay  them,"  interposed 
Mark,  sensitively,  "  but  you  wouldn't  let  me." 

"  The  best  way  to  help  me  was  to  teach  me  to 
help  myself,1"  returned  Nellie,  tranquilly.  "All 
I  needed  was  a  starter.  I  could  give  you  points, 
now." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that." 

"  Wait  a  minute  !"  she  exclaimed,  and,  going 
into  the  room  where  she  had  been  with  her  pupil, 
returned  with  her  hands  full  of  photographs  and 
circulars. 

"  That  is  my  Rosicrucian  teacher,"  she  began, 
displaying  the  picture  of  a  venerable  man  with 
a  beard  which  covered  him  like  a  breastplate. 
"Isn't  he  a  dear?  And  this  is  Haridass  Gocul- 


184 


dass.  There  he  is  again  with  a  group  of  his  fol- 
lowers." 

"  A  moon-struck  set !"  commented  Mark. 

"  They're  concentrating  their  thoughts,"  ex- 
plained the  initiate,  with  a  little  giggle.  "  You 
see,  they  must  look  at  one  point  and  not  move 
their  eyes  from  that  spot.  If  they  do,  their 
thoughts  wander.  They  get  marvellous  effects 
from  that  concentration." 

"I  should  think  they  might,"  returned  Mark, 
grimly  ;  "  and  this  is  the  prospectus  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  teach,"  she  announced, 
complacently. 

"Sun-breath,  Moon-breath,  Isvara,"  he  read, 
"  the  influence  of  the  stars,  the  influence  of  gems, 
the  record  of  life  written  in  the  hand."  As  Uncle 
Oliver  had  said,  she  "  had  the  whole  business." 

"  Concentration,  Isolation,  Yoga,"  he  contin- 
ued. 

"  Haridass  Goculdass  says  I  am  the  only  person 
in  America  who  can  teach  Yoga,"  interrupted 
Nellie.  "  I  make  a  specialty  of  that.  There's  a 
Mademoiselle  Duvray  in  this  house  who  pretends 
to  teach  '  Hindoo  Deep-breathing,'  but  she  is 
aicay  off.  Do  you  know  her  ?"  Something  in 
Mark's  manner  made  her  pause  and  scrutinize 
him  curiously. 

"I  have  known  Mademoiselle  Duvray  for  sev- 
eral yeai's,"  he  answered,  quietly. 

"Oh,  if  she  is  a  friend  yours,"  apologized 
Nellie. 


185 


"  Don't  hesitate  on  ray  account,  I  beg,"  he  re- 
turned, with  one  of  his  satirical  gestures. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  pursued  Nellie, 
confidentially.  "  She  won't  come  out  with  these 
things  as  I  do.  She  covers  up  and  plasters  over 
and  slides  around,  and  then  to  call  herself  Made- 
moiselle, like  a  French  governess  !" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  not  coming  out?"  he 
demanded. 

"  You'll  find  out  one  of  these  days.  She's  a 
Taurus.  The  Taurus  people  are  bound  to  rule. 
They  take  everything  in  sight.  You  want  to  look 
out  for  Taurus  people.  When  were  you  born  ?" 

"  The  fifth  of  April." 

"I  thought  so.  You  are  an  Aries — like  me. 
I'm  an  Aries.  You  have  great  occult  power  if 
you  would  only  develop  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  haven't  ?" 

"Well,  you  ought  to  do  something  with  it — 
something  to  help  humanity."  A  wistful  look 
came  into  her  deep  azure  eyes.  "Mark,  you'd  be 
surprised  if  you  could  see  the  people  who  come  to 
me  for  help.  Honestly,  I  wouldn't  care  to  live  if 
I  couldn't  help  people.  It  is  the  only  thing  worth 
living  for." 

"  Very  true,  Nellie,"  he  answered,  seriously. 

"  There  are  plenty  who  do  this  to  make  money," 
she  continued,  with  dignity  ;  "but  I'm  like  Hari- 
dass  Goculdass.  I  am  working  in  the  interest  of 
humanity.  Haridass  and  I  are  after  souls." 

"  Pretty  large  game,  Nell !" 


186 


"  Yes,  I  know  it  is." 

"And  pretty  small  shot."  He  took  up  the 
prospectus.  "Odyllic  Force,  Aura,"  he  read. 
"How  much  do  you  really  believe  in  all  this, 
Nell !" 

"  More  than  you  think,"  she  answered,  promptly. 
"  You  may  call  it  aura,  or  you  may  call  it  atmos- 
phere, it's  there,  and  every  scientific  man  acknowl- 
edges the  fact.  They  have  to  have  these  things 
dressed  up  for  them,  Mark;  they  like  the  queer 
names  ;  they  think  they  are  getting  more  in 
that  way.  And  they  have  to  have  something 
to  do  —  some  little  ceremony  ;  the  more  unusual 
it  is  the  more  good  it  does  them.  Mark,  you 
know  thei'e's  a  lot  of  truth  in  this,  now,  don't 

you?" 

He  held  her  eyes  with  his  for  a  moment  before 
he  answered  her.  "  It  is  just  because  I  know  there 
is  so  much  in  it  that  I  hate  to  have  you  fool  these 
people." 

"If  I  do,  I  fool  them  into — into  the  truth,'1''  she 
cried. 

"Ah,  Nellie,  Nellie,  you  are  more  Irish  than 
the  family  you  married  into." 

They  stood  up,  laughing  and  holding  each  oth- 
er's hands. 

"Then  you  won't  stay  to  luncheon  and  hear 
me  speak  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  think  not,"  he  answered,  affectionately. 

She  accompanied  him  to  the  elevator,  chatting 
all  the  way  of  her  triumphs  and  prospects,  and  of 


187 


her  delight  in  seeing  him.  "  You  will  surety  come 
again  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  will  come  again." 

He  sighed  as  he  walked  down  the  street  under 
the  tender  green  of  the  new  spring  foliage  ;  yet 
he  smiled,  too.  It  was  all  such  innocent  "  fool- 
ing" 


XXI 

THERE  was  a  young  man  talking  to  Uncle 
Oliver  when  Mark  entered  the  latter's  office  the 
next  morning — a  tall  young  man  with  fair  hair. 
As  he  turned  Mark  was  struck  by  his  resemblance 
to  Eloise  Gordon  :  he  had  the  same  hazel  eyes 
with  black  lashes  and  brows,  the  same  delicate 
nose  and  short  upper-lip,  the  same  winning  smile. 
The  absence  of  a  beard  enhanced  the  resemblance. 
Uncle  Oliver  introduced  him  as  Doctor  Dering, 
and  soon  afterwards  made  some  clumsy  excuse 
for  leaving  him  alone  with  Mark.  He  was  evi- 
dently very  fond  of  the  boy,  whom  he  patted  en- 
couragingly upon  the  back  as  he  said  good-bye. 
"If  any  one  comes  in,  tell  them  I'll  be  back  in  an 
hour  or  so,"  he  added. 

"There  goes  one  of  the  kindest  hearts  in  Chi- 
cago," said  Mark,  as  Uncle  Oliver  closed  the  door 
noisily  behind  him  to  let  them  know  he  was  out 
of  hearing. 

"Isn't  he,  though!"  exclaimed  Carl,  enthusias- 
tically. "  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  without 
him.  My  own  father  couldn't  have  been  more  dis- 
interested. And  we  are  not  connected,  you  know. 
He  knew  my  mother  when  he  was  a  young  man." 


189 


"  Your  father  is  not  alive,  I  take  it,"  said  Mark. 

"  Oh  yes,  he's  alive.  Did  you  think  he  wasn't  ? 
But  there  are  no  other  children.  That  is  why 
they  make  such  a  fuss  over  me."  Again  that 
winning  smile. 

"He  is  evidently  a  'mother's  boy,'"  thought 
Mark.  "  Easy  meat  for  the  sharks ;  but  I  can't 
tell  him  that.  What  under  the  sun  shall  I  say 
to  him,  anyway?"  He  was  saved  the  trouble  of 
deciding  what  to  say  by  Carl  himself,  who  con- 
tinued, "  She  wrote  to  Uncle  Oliver  when  she 
learned  that  I  had  determined  to  give  up  my  pro- 
fession." 

"  Why  did  you  do  that  ?"  asked  Mark. 

"  It  seemed  the  only  thing  to  do.  I  could  not 
conscientiously  go  on." 

"  Why  ?" 

"Because  I  had  come  to  disbelieve  in  the 
method." 

"In  drugs?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  You  have  been  in  practice  how  many  years  ?" 
asked  Mark,  with  a  quizzical  look. 

Carl  blushed.     "Nearly  four  years." 

"And  you  are,  I  take  it,  about  twenty-five  ?" 

"Nearly  twenty-six." 

"  With  four  years'  practice  and  not  yet  in  your 
twenty-seventh  year,  you  have  exhausted  the  virt- 
ues of  Materia  Medica?" 

"I  don't  mean  that,"  returned  Carl,  quickly. 
"  But  you  must  have  seen  for  yourself — you  are 


190 


a  thinker — that  the  recovery  of  a  patient  depends 
upon  that  patient's  faith.  You  can't  cure  him  if 
he  does  not  believe  in  you  and  in  what  you  give 
him." 

"Have  you  learned,"  pursued  Mark,  "  that  you 
can  always  command  the  patient's  faith  without 
the  employment  of  drugs  —  granting  that  the 
drugs  themselves  are  without  efficacy  ?" 

"  Sometimes  I  can,"  replied  Carl,  hopefully. 

"  In  that  case,  do  you  not  find  it  necessary  to 
substitute  for  the  dependence  upon  the  drug  a 
dependence  upon  yourself,  a  faith  in  your  powers, 
a  belief  in  your  ability  to  do  what  you  have  un- 
dertaken ?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  granted  the  young  metaphysician  ; 
"but  that  is  faith,  that  isn't  drugs." 

"Exactly  ;  but  do  you  find  yourself  so  much 
more  nearly  infallible  than  the  drugs  are?  Isn't 
it  substituting  one  prop  for  another,  and  don't 
you  wish  at  times  that  you  could  give  up  the  re- 
sponsibility, and  whip  out  that  old  black  leather 
case  to  operate  for  you  ?" 

An  illuminating  smile  broke  over  Carl's  sunny 
face.  "  You  come  pretty  near  to  the  truth,"  he 
answered,  ingenuously.  "But  is  it  right  to  de- 
ceive the  patient  ?"  he  questioned,  the  smile  dis- 
appearing. "  Have  I  a  right  to  say  '  This  will 
cure  you'  when  I  don't  believe  the  drug  has  any- 
thing to  do  with  it?" 

"  Have  you  a  right  to  say  '  I  will  cure  you ' 
when  you  feel  a  similar  uncertainty  ?" 


191 


"I  don't  say  exactly  that." 

"  What  do  you  say?"  The  question  was  put  so 
frankly  that  there  was  no  resenting  it,  even  if 
Carl  had  been  inclined. 

"I  say, '  God  is  Good  and  He  is  Absolute,'"  he 
replied,  like  a  child  saying  his  lesson.  " '  There  is 
no  evil.  This  idea  of  sickness  is  a  misapprehen- 
sion. The  truth  is  that  you  are  well.  Now,  you 
must  realize  that  truth,  and  manifest  it.'  " 

"  Do  you  say  that  aloud  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  it  wouldn't  do." 

"  Any  more  than  telling  a  patient, '  This  pill  or 
this  powder  isn't  of  any  use,  but  if  you  brace  up 
and  have  some  confidence  in  it,  it  will  pull  you 
through,  because  of  the  marvellous  effect  which 
confidence  invariably  has  upon  the  human  mind.' " 

Carl  looked  thoughtful.  "Sometimes  you  can 
say  what  you  mean  aloud,"  he  persisted.  "  There 
are  some  patients  who  want  you  to  tell  them  how 
to  get  hold  of  this  for  themselves." 

"Among  the  unenlightened,"  responded  Mark, 
"  weren't  there  a  few  who  could  bear  to  be  told 
the  truth  ?" 

"  Why,  yes.  Oh,  I  see  what  you  mean  plainly 
enough." 

"My  dear  boy,"  exclaimed  Mark,  laying  his 
hand  affectionately  on  the  boy's  arm  —  no  one 
could  help  being  affectionate  with  Carl — "I  ad- 
mire Truth  as  much  you  do  ;  I've  followed  her 
trailing  skirts  this  many  a  year  ;  I've  lain  low  and 
listened  for  her  footsteps  ;  I've  cherished  every 


192 


far-off  glimpse  of  her,  every  faintest  whisper. 
Let  me  give  you  a  Avarning  :  she  has  no  use  for  a 
lover  who  blabs  her  secrets.  Keep  Avhat  she  tells 
you  and  use  it.  Don't  think  you  must  tell  every 
one  you  help  how  you  do  it.  Don't  think  you 
must  formulate  your  belief  ;  unformulated  belief 
is  the  best,  because  it  is  alive ;  the  formulated 
things  are  dead.  And  don't  think  you  must  foist 
your  opinions  on  the  rest  of  the  Avorld  ;  their  opin- 
ions are  just  as  good — for  them." 

"And  you  believe — " 

"I  believe  your  own  profession  is  the  place  for 
you.  Give  just  as  little  medicine  as  you  please  ; 
use  just  as  much  faith  as  you  can  ;  you  will  find 
plenty  of  room  among  scientific  men  for  the  truth, 
however  novel  its  application.  Among  these  HCAV 
friends  and  teachers,  have  you  found  such  unquali- 
fied welcome  of  the  truth  as  truth  ?  Can  you  tell 
them  what  you  honestly  think?  Will  they  hear 
'a  plain,  unvarnished  tale'?  Do  you  never  find  it 
necessary  to  flatter  and  soothe  them  with  pleasant 
words  Avhich  mean  little  or  nothing?  Have  the 
Avoraen  no  vanity,  the  men  no  self-conceit  ?" 

Carl  looked  sober.  "That  troubled  me  more 
than  anything  else,"  he  acknowledged.  "  I  found 
I  was  getting  back  into  the  old  ways.  It  Avas  so 
magnificent  to  say  just  what  you  meant.  But  of 
course  these  people  aren't  perfect." 

"  Even  if  they  do  say,  '  All  is  Spirit  and  all  is 
Good,' "  concluded  Mark.  "  No,  I  am  not  laugh- 
ing at  them.  They  had  a  Avork  to  do,  and  they 


193 


are  doing  it — in  the  church,  in  the  professions,  in 
society.  The  power  of  thought  would  never  have 
been  recognized  and  taken  advantage  of  as  it  is 
if  it  had  not  been  for  them.  They  have  my  best 
wishes,  and  so  have  you.  How  ai-e  you  off  for 
funds?" 

It  was  as  impossible  to  resent  this  question  as 
it  had  been  to  resent  those  which  preceded  it. 
Carl  looked  confused,  but  answered,  readily 
enough,  "  I  am  pretty  nearly  '  strapped.'  I've 
been  trying  to  get  work  for  some  time.  Dr.  Sy- 
monds  thought  there  would  be  plenty  of  his  sort 
of  work  to  do,  but  I  don't  feel  prepared  to  un- 
dertake it  in  just  the  way  he  proposed." 

"  Not  quite  ready  to  claim  infallibility  ?" 

"He  doesn't  claim  infallibility,"  returned  Carl, 
quickly,  "except  for  the  Principle.  He  says  that 
if  you  will  fulfil  the  conditions  you  will  accom- 
plish what  you  undertake." 

"  That's  liberal,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mark,  "  to  all 
concerned.  What  advertisements  have  you  an- 
swered ?" 

"All  sorts.  Some  of  the  people  I  saw,  but 
none  of  them  wanted  me." 

"Any  more  than  you  wanted  them.  My  dear 
fellow,  there's  only  one  thing  for  you  to  do.  Go 
back  into  Humphrey's  office.  Eat  humble  pie,  if 
it  is  necessary  ;  he  is  older  than  you  are,  and 
has  had  more  experience." 

"I  can't,"  exploded  Carl.  "He  called  me — an 
unmitigated  ass  !" 

13 


194 


"  What  if  lie  did  ?"  returned  Mark,  trying  not 
to  smile.  "  Tliat  was  his  way  of  patting  it.  I'll 
tell  you  what  I'll  do  :  I'll  go  over  and  see  him 
myself,  and  explain  matters.  I'll  venture  he'll 
be  glad  enough  to  get  you  back  again.  Where 
is  his  office  ?" 

Carl  gave  the  address.  "  But  I  know  it  is  of 
no  use,"  he  said,  dejectedly. 

Mark  disappeared,  and  Carl  sat  down  to  wait 
for  him,  surprised  at  his  own  agitation.  A  pict- 
ure of  the  pleasant  office  rose  before  him  ;  of  his 
own  desk  and  the  instrument-case  which  he  had 
bought  by  means  of  such  self-denial,  both  on  his 
own  part  and  his  mother's.  How  fondly  they 
had  arranged  the  shelves  together,  wrapping  each 
shining  implement  in  its  chamois -skin  envelope 
embroidered  with  his  initial  by  her  devoted  hands  ! 
How  carelessly  he  had  parted  with  them  in  his 
zeal  for  the  "development"  which  he  seemed  some- 
how to  have  missed,  after  all ! 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  walked  the  narrow 
room  to  and  fro,  to  and  fro.  How  could  he  ex- 
pect Humphrey  to  overlook  his  defiant  attitude 
and  personal  thrusts  ?  And  what  should  he,  could 
he  do  if  Heffron's  mission  failed  ?  His  fruitless 
search  for  work  had  taught  him  its  scarcity  and 
his  own  lack  of  preparation  for  anything  outside 
his  medical  training.  The  other,  the  spiritual 
substitute,  had  appealed  to  his  love  of  beauty  and 
goodness  ;  it  had  been  a  courtesy  to  his  friends,  a 
graceful  mannerism,  a  lofty  mode  of  life  ;  but 


195 


as  a  means  of  winning  a  livelihood  it  had  always 
appeared  out  of  place.  It  seemed  impossible  now, 
since  his  talk  with  Uncle  Oliver's  friend.  He 
dreaded  Mark's  return,  and  trembled  when,  at 
last,  he  heard  a  footstep  in  the  hall.  One  glance 
at  Mark's  face  encouraged  him.  "  Is  it  all  right  ?" 
he  faltered. 

"  Of  course  it's  all  right,"  replied  the  mediator. 
"You're  to  go  right  over.  He  has  an  operation 
at  St.  Luke's  this  morning,  and  you're  to  go 
along  with  him  to  assist.  'Jones  is  N.  G.,'  Hum- 
phrey says;  '  he's  as  honest  as  a  cooper's  cow,  but 
his  fingers  are  like  sticks.'  " 

"  That's  Humphrey  all  over,"  laughed  Carl,  de- 
lightedly. "  He  always  liked  my  hands."  He 
spread  them  out  before  him  —  Eloise  Gordon's 
hands :  long,  slender,  shapely,  full  of  skill  and 
sympathy. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?"  demanded  Mark, 
for  Carl  had  suddenly  stopped  with  a  face  full  of 
consternation. 

"I  haven't  a  thing,"  he  cried,  tragicall}*,  "not 
a  thing.  I  sold  every  book  and  instrument  to 
Jones  when  he  took  my  place  ;  I  haven't  so  much 
as  a  needle." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Mark,  coolly.  "Hum- 
phrey bought  them  in.  He  always  expected  you'd 
come  back  some  time." 

"  Blessed  old  Humphrey !"  ejaculated  Carl. 
"  I'll  fall  on  his  neck." 

"I  wouldn't   do   that,"  advised    Mark,    "and 


196 


what's  more,  I'd  keep  a  good  lot  of  self-respect 
handy.  I  told  him  you'd  been  investigating 
mental  science  for  the  benefit  of  the  profession, 
and  you  had  some  very  valuable  material  —  as  I 
think  you  have.  You  needn't  undertake  to  teach 
him  the  explanation  of  the  origin  of  evil  or  the 
personal  characteristics  of  the  First  Cause." 

"He  took  Dr.  Symonds's  course  himself,"  re- 
turned Carl,  "  and  bought  the  manuscript  lessons  ; 
I  found  them  in  his  desk.  That  was  what  the 
row  was  all  about ;  I  told  him  he  ought  to  come 
out  and  show  his  colors." 

"Oh,  you  did,  did  you?  That  was  politic. 
Well,  I  wouldn't  offer  any  more  advice  if  I  were 
you.  Hurry  up  now  ;  don't  keep  him  waiting. 
I'll  stay  here  and  'tend  store'  till  Uncle  Oliver 
comes  back.  Don't  stop  to  talk  ;  I  understand." 

Carl  gave  him  a  grateful  look  and  hurried  away. 
He  had  not  been  gone  many  minutes  before  Uncle 
Oliver  came  bustling  in. 

"  By  George,  Mark  !"  he  cried,  seizing  his  hand, 
"I'll  never  forget  this  morning's  work!"  He 
took  off  his  glasses  and  wiped  them,  and  blew  his 
nose  violently.  "A  better  boy  never  lived,"  he 
went  on,  earnestly,  "  but  he's  no  more  fit  to  wrastle 
with  the  world  than  a  chickadee — his  mother  right 
over.  She  was  the  prettiest,  smartest  little  thing 
you  ever  saw  when  she  was  a  girl,  and  she's  mar- 
ried to  a  great,  selfish  lubber." 

Uncle  Oliver  wiped  his  glasses  for  the  second 
time,  but  he  still  seemed  to  have  difficulty  in  see- 


197 


ing  through  them.  "  Everybody  likes  Carl,"  he 
continued.  "Our  girls  think  the  world  of  him — 
adaptable,  you  knoAv — goes  right  in.  He's  got  a 
cousin  out  south  of  here  ;  I  sent  the  girls  out  to 
look  her  up  —  poor  girl  —  teaches  drawing  or 
painting,  or  something  of  that  sort ;  I  thought 
they'd  work  her  in.  They  took  lessons  of  her, 
but  never  got  any  further — not  but  what  I  respect 
her  full  as  much  for  it  as  if  she  grabbed  every 
chance  that  come  along,  like  that  Miss  Duvray." 

Mark  frowned.  "You  seem  to  have  a  grudge 
against  Mademoiselle  Duvray,"  he  said,  causti- 
cally. 

"  She's  too  almighty  successful,"  growled  Uncle 
Oliver.  "  You  and  I  know  what  success  means. 
Some  one  has  got  to  go  down  to  let  us  go  up.  "We 
expect  a  man  to  pile  up  his  feller-beings  and 
climb  over  them,  but  we  don't  expect  a  woman  to 
do  it.  There's  another  way,  to  be  sure,"  Mark 
started  to  speak,  but  Uncle  Oliver  hastened  to 
add,  "  I  don't  say  she's  one  to  take  it ;  she  isn't. 
She'd  dodge  before  it  came  to  an  actual  experi- 
ence ;  the  other  feller'd  get  the  experience.  I  tell 
you,  Mark,"  he  continued,  earnestly,  "  it  made  me 
mad  to  see  that  boy  mooning  around  after  her 
and  that  leftenant  of  hers,  Louise  Ayer.  They 
played  on  that  sensitive  nature  of  his  just  as 
they  would  on  fiddle-strings.  'Tain't  right ;  'tain't 
right." 

Mark  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  can't  fol- 
low that  boy  around  and  cry  'Hands  off !'  to  every 


198 


one  who  touches  him.  If  lie  can't  protect  him- 
self, he'd  better  learn  how.  I  must  go." 

"  Come  and  have  some  lunch  with  me." 

"  Can't  do  it.  I  want  to  catch  a  man  before  he 
leaves  his  office.  Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,  Mark.  Hullo !  I  nearly  forgot  Nell. 
Did  you  see  her  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her." 

"How  was  she?" 

"  Plump  and  pretty  as  ever." 

"Did  you — did  you  have  any  talk  with  her?" 

"An  hour  or  more  of  it." 

"Well,  was  she — was  she  reasonable?" 

"She  thought  she  was.  Reasonableness  is  a 
relative  quality." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  Is  she  going  to  quit 
her  nonsense,  and  settle  down  and  behave  her- 
self ?"  Uncle  Oliver  was  becoming  impatient,  but 
his  impatience  was  but  as  the  sputter  of  a  match 
to  the  explosive  light  in  Mark  Heffron's  eyes. 

"See  here,  Mr.  Ross,"  he  exclaimed,  wheeling 
in  his  walk  towards  the  door,  and  facing  his  com- 
panion, "I'm  not  a  special  policeman  detailed  to 
look  after  other  people's  business.  I  have  some 
affairs  of  my  own,  and  it  is  high  time  for  me  to  be 
attending  to  them.  Good-morning  !" 

"Of  all  the  peppery  Irishmen!"  ejaculated 
Uncle  Oliver,  standing  where  Mark  had  left  him 
in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Mark  had  in  his  pocket  at 
that  moment  a  letter  relating  to  "  other  people's 


199 


business  "  which  troubled  him  not  a  little ;  it  was 
from  young  Norton,  and  ran  somewhat  as  follows  : 
"  I  wish  you  would  see  rny  uncle.  I  hear  in  a 
roundabout  way  that  he  has  withdrawn  his  stock 
from  the  B.  &  O.,  and  goodness  knows  what  he 
has  done  with  it.  He  doesn't  favor  me  with  his 
confidence,  but  he  always  thought  you  knew  more 
than  any  one  else  did.  When  I  was  in  Chicago, 
a  few  weeks  ago,  he  seemed  hurt  because  you  had 
not  been  out  to  see  him." 


XXII 

IT  was  some  distance  to  Norton's  office,  and 
Mark  had  already  traversed  it  twice  that  day, 
intending  to  leave  Uncle  Oliver  until  afternoon  ; 
but  Norton  had  been  out.  He  was  out  now,  and 
there  was  no  office  -  boy  to  tell  where  he  had 
gone — nothing  but  a  small  card  stuck  into  the 
sash  of  the  door  and  saying  briefly,  "Back  at 
two." 

Mark  looked  at  his  watch.  "Just  one.  I'll 
get  something  to  eat,  and  come  back  in  time  to 
catch  him,"  he  decided.  He  hurried  along  the 
street,  trying  to  find  some  clean,  attractive  place 
where  he  could  obtain  "a  bite"  to  last  until  din- 
ner-time. Suddenly,  out  of  the  earth  beside  him, 
as  it  seemed,  started  up  the  very  man  he  sought. 
Norton  had  a  guilty  look  ;  Mark  eyed  him  sus- 
piciously. "I  have  been  to  your  office  twice," 
he  said,  with  some  severity. 

"Is  that  so?"  replied  Norton,  shamefacedly. 
"The  fact  is,  I  — well,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  had 
an  early  breakfast ;  I  was  a  little  faint  for 
food." 

"  Nothing  criminal  about  that,"  returned  Mark. 

"  Why,  no  ;    nothing   criminal,"  said  the   old 


201 


man  ;  "but  I  meant  to  be  in.  I  got  your  note. 
You  haven't  been  to  lunch  ?" 

"What's  this  place  you  went  into?"  Mark 
scrutinized  it  curiously — as  much  of  it,  at  least, 
as  appeared  above-ground:  a  large  plate -glass 
Avindow  inscribed  in  black  and  gilt  letters, 
"  Cafetira,"  and  a  stairway,  up  and  down  which 
men  and  women  were  passing. 

"It  is  clean,"  said  Mr.  Norton,  hesitatingly, 
"but  there's  no  style  about  it.  Don't  you  know 
what  a  cafetira  is  ?" 

Mark  confessed  his  ignorance,  adding,  "  But 
I'll  be  wiser  very  soon." 

"Perhaps  you  won't  like  it,"  suggested  his 
companion. 

"  If  it's  good  enough  for  you,  it's  good  enough 
for  me,"  replied  Mark,  and  led  the  way  down  the 
steps.  Within  the  door,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
stairway,  a  man  sat  at  a  turnstile  and  handed 
long  slips  of  paper  to  those  who  passed.  Before 
another  turnstile  stood  the  cashier's  desk,  where 
the  same  slips  were  handed  in  and  the  amount 
settled.  Mark  looked  at  his  list ;  upon  it  were 
printed  the  names  of  the  articles  of  food,  with 
the  price  opposite  the  name. 

"  You  want  to  set  your  table,"  directed  his  com- 
panion. "  There  are  the  cups  over  there  and  the 
saucers  ;  the  plates,  knives,  and  forks  are  oppo- 
site." 

Groups  of  young  girls  were  preparing  a  table 
together,  chatting  and  laughing  as  they  went  to 


202 


and  fro  with  their  dishes.  The  men  who  were  in 
the  room  seemed  more  inclined  to  be  solitary,  and 
walked  soberly  to  their  seats  with  their  cups  of 
coffee  and  sandwich  plates. 

"You  get  what  you  want  and  they  punch  the 
list,"  counselled  Mr.  Norton,  and  Mark  obeyed, 
marching  from  coffee-urn  to  salad-stand,  and  feel- 
ing, as  he  told  himself,  "  tired  of  the  whole  busi- 
ness" before  he  commenced  to  eat.  Overhead, 
the  ground -glass  windows  of  the  roof  reminded 
them  that  they  were  under  the  street.  Small  par- 
allelograms of  shadow  glided  over  in  pairs  when 
men  passed,  and  large  waving  triangles  when  the 
women's  skirts  went  by.  Mr.  Norton  affected  a 
cheerful  indifference  to  the  discomforts,  assuming 
a  jovial,  picnic-seeking  air  which  was  entirely  for- 
eign to  his  pensive,  ponderous  nature. 

"  He  isn't  doing  this  for  the  fun  of  it,"  mused 
Mark,  "  but  I  won't  say  a  word  now."  He  talked 
of  business  and  the  "  depression,"  computed  the 
possibilities  of  better  times,  discussed  the  threat- 
ened "  tie-up,"  and  all  the  while  watched  the  old 
man  before  him  narrowly. 

"  I  never  saw  him  look  so  alive.  I  suppose  it 
is  the  fever  of  the  gambler,"  he  mused.  "  Poor 
old  duffer  !  He'll  tell  me  all  about  it  when  we 
get  back  to  the  office." 

But  when  they  had  reached  the  office  and  were 
settled  in  their  respective  chairs  fronting  each 
other,  Mark  found  it  difficult  to  open  the  discus- 
sion. Either  Mr.  Norton  had  determined  to  be 


203 


wary  in  his  confidences,  or  he  feared  Mark's  dis- 
approval of  what  had  been  done.  In  vain  Mark 
led  him  diplomatically  around  to  the  question  of 
investments,  and  invited  his  faith  by  vouchsafing 
all  sorts  of  information  about  his  own  affairs. 
The  old  man  shied  away  from  his  tempting  sug- 
gestions as  a  horse  shies  from  the  salt-box  when 
there  is  a  halter  behind  it.  Yet  he  detained 
Mark,  and  evidently  wanted  to  say  something. 

"  Why  doesn't  he  out  with  it  ?"  mused  Mark, 
uneasily.  "  I've  hung  around  here  as  long  as  I'm 
going  to."  He  arose  and  held  out  his  hand,  say- 
ing, "If  there  is  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Mr. 
Norton,  let  me  know." 

"  Don't  go,"  implored  the  old  man.  "  Don't  go. 
I — I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

Mark  sat  down  and  waited,  with  some  impa- 
tience. "I've  wanted  to  talk  with  you  for  some 
time,"  pursued  his  companion,  diffidently  ;  "  but 
you  always  seem  in  such  a  hurry.  I  wanted  to 
consult  with  you  before  I  took  any  decided  step  ; 
but  when  I  recalled  our  conversation  of  a  year 
ago,  I  knew  you'd  approve  of  what  I  was  doing 
— what  I  meditated  doing." 

Mark  stared.  What  could  he  have  said  a  year 
ago  which  could  possibly  be  construed  as  having 
any  bearing  on  investments  or  the  B.  &  O.? 

"And  so  I  went  ahead,"  pursued  the  other. 
"  Then  afterwards  I  learned  from  Mademoiselle 
Duvray  herself  that  she  was  the  little  French 
girl  you  told  me  about,  and  I  remembered  you 


204 


said  she  was  a  living  example  of  your  opinions. 
She  always  had  plenty  of  time  to  talk  about  these 
things,  and  she  knew  just  what  I  wanted.  Mark, 
that  woman  has  been  an  angel  of  light  to  me  !" 

"  She  told  me  you  two  were  good  friends,"  re- 
plied Mark,  civilly. 

"  Friends  !"  broke  in  the  old  man,  "  she  has  been 
my  salvation  !  You  see,  Mark,"  his  voice  took 
on  a  forbearing  tone,  "your  way  is  all  right  for 
you  ;  some  have  to  get  it  one  way,  and  some 
another.  But  I  knew  that  night  when  you  were 
talking  about  faith  being  founded  on  reason  that 
we  never  should  understand  each  other.  She's  a 
tcoman,  all  intuition  and  sensitiveness.  I  don't 
have  to  explain  a  word  to  her.  She  understood 
without  my  saying  anything,  and  she  led  me  back 
into  the  path  from  which  I  strayed  years  ago. 
Mark,  do  you  remember  my  telling  you  that  I'd 
give  all  I  possessed  to  feel  as  I  did  then  ?  Well, 
the  Lord  has  taken  me  at  my  word  !" 

A  sudden  horror  seized  Mark  Heffron.  "  Yon 
don't  mean  to  say,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  you've 
given  up  all  your  property  to  Marguerite  Duvray  ? 
What  is  she,  to  do  this  thing  !" 

"  Why,  no,"  replied  the  old  man,  tranquilly, 
"  she  doesn't  want  money  ;  that  is  why  it  comes  to 
her.  She  never  lacks  for  anything,  and  neither 
shall  I,  now  that  I've  learned  how  to  live.  It's 
all  in  the  universe,  enough  and  to  spare.  Put 
yourself  in  the  right  attitude,  and  it  flows  towards 
you." 


205 


All  this  was  interesting,  but  furnished  no  ex- 
planation of  the  disposition  of  Mr.  Norton's  stock. 
Mark  pushed  on,  seeking  a  solution.  "  What  am  I 
to  understand,"  he  asked,  bluntly,  "  by  the  IJOrd's 
taking  you  at  your  word  ?" 

"  Just  what  I  said,"  replied  his  companion,  with 
a  bright  look.  "  I've  given  up  carrying  on  busi- 
ness in  the  old  way.  I've  undertaken  to  help 
spread  a  gospel  which  is  going  to  revolutionize 
the  world."  The  speaker  started  to  his  feet,  and 
paced  up  and  down  the  office.  "  Mark,"  he  said, 
earnestly,  coming  to  a  standstill  before  the  young 
man's  chair,  "what  are  people  after?  Happiness! 
What  is  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble  in  the  world, 
the  struggle,  and  the  misery?  ITnhappiness ! 
Make  people  happy  and  they'll  be  satisfied.  Show 
them  that  happiness  depends  on  their  being  kind 
and  generous,  and  the  rich  will  divide  with  the 
poor ;  everything  will  even  up ;  there  will  be  no 
poverty.  Show  them  that  health  depends  upon 
thought,  and  every  one  will  learn  how  to  think 
rightly,  and  will  be  well  in  consequence.  Prove  to 
them  that  sin  is  a  mistake,  that  it  is  acting  upon 
a  misconception,  and  does  not  bring  happiness,  and 
people  will  cease  to  sin  ;  they  will  change  their 
thought,  that  is  what  repentance  means.  Why, 
don't  you  see,  Mark,  this  is  only  carrying  out  your 
own  theory,  the  controlling  power  of  thought  ?" 

Mark  saw,  only  too  plainly.  "'Who  is  going  to 
do  all  this?"  he  inquired,  dryly.  "The  world 
isn't  exactly  clamoring  for  these  ideas." 


206 


"  It  is  more  ready  for  them  than  you  suppose," 
replied  the  other,  calmly.  "  There  are  institutions 
for  the  propagation  of  this  teaching  all  over  the 
worla.  The  little  paper  which  Ave  publish  goes 
to  France,  Germany,  even  to  India." 

"  Who  are  ice  ?"  asked  Mark.  "  You  and  Mad- 
emoiselle Duvray?" 

"Why,  no,"  responded  Mr.  Norton,  quickly. 
"Dr.  Symonds  is  in  charge  of  the  work  here  in 
Chicago — a  most  able  man.  I  wish  you  would  go 
and  talk  with  him,  Mark." 

"  How  did  you  get  hold  of  him  ?" 

"Mademoiselle  Duvray  took  me  there.  Didn't 
I  tell  you  ?  I  told  you  that  it  was  through  her 
that  I  found  the  Light !" 

"And  Dr.  Symonds  represents  the  Light !" 

"You  wouldn't  speak  in  that  tone  if  you 
knew  him."  Evidently  Mr.  Norton's  feelings 
were  hurt.  He  began  to  draw  himself  togeth- 
er and  away  from  the  scoffing  visitor,  who  saw 
the  mistake  he  had  made  "and  hastened  to  re- 
pair it. 

"  Forgive  me,  Mr.  Norton  ;  I  spoke  ill-advisedty. 
As  you  say,  we  look  at  these  things  differently  ;  I 
was  born  without  a  bump  of  reverence,  and  time 
has  not  filled  in  the  hollow.  But  I  am  interested 
in  whatever  concerns  you." 

"But  this  concerns  you"  interrupted  the  other. 
"  The  first  thing  I  thought  of  when  I  began  to 
study  with  Dr.  Symonds  was  how  pleased  you 
would  be  to  know  that  your  theories  were  being 


207 


verified,  were  being  practically  applied.  Why, 
Mark,  it  is  magnificent !" 

Mark  remained  silent.  Mr.  Norton  sat  down 
with  a  sigh.  A  young  man  who  could  theorize 
so  glibly,  and  yet  resent  the  application  of  his  the- 
ories, was  a  being  beyond  his  comprehension.  But 
neither  theory  nor  application  absorbed  his  visitor 
just  then.  He  was  saying  to  himself,  "How  in 
thunder  shall  I  find  out  what  has  become  of  that 
fifty  thousand  dollars?"  It  would  never  do  to 
write  Joey  that  his  mission  had  failed. 

While  he  was  still  puzzling  over  the  next  move, 
Mr.  Norton  began  again.  "I  know  what  you 
think  ;  you  think  because  you  never  heard  of  this 
man  that  he  is  Avithout  influence  or  position. 
When  you  see  a  big  brovvnstone  building  go  up, 
right  here,  on  the  lake  front,  devoted  to  the  of- 
fices and  halls  of  those  interested  in  this  move- 
ment, you  will  see  what  Dr.  Symonds  has  accom- 
plished." 

Mark  pricked  up  his  ears.  "  Has  it  really  gone 
so  far  as  that  ?"  he  asked,  temperately. 

"  Wait,  I'll  show  you  something  !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Norton,  jumping  up  and  going  to  his  desk. 
"There,  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  he  asked, 
triumphantly,  unrolling  a  huge  sheet  of  thick 
blue  paper  such  as  architects  use.  "That"  was 
a  drawing  of  a  fa9ade,  lofty  and  beautiful,  adorned 
with  many  quaint  and  graceful  symbols,  each 
significant  in  itself,  but  all  subordinated  to  the 
artistic  glory  of  the  whole. 


208 


"  It  is  very  fine,"  said  Mark,  "  and  represents  a 
great  deal  of  money.  It  will  take  a  pretty  wealthy 
association  to  put  up  such  a  building  as  that." 

"  Fifty  thousand  dollars  has  already  been  sub- 
scribed," said  the  old  man,  rolling  up  the  plan, 
with  a  chuckle.  "  Other  subscriptions  are  coming 
in  fast.  It's  a  good  investment,  Mark.  A  build- 
ing like  that  pays  its  stock-owners  better  than  al- 
most anything  else  that  they  can  go  into.  Didn't 
you  know  that  ?" 

"Sometimes,"  replied  Mark,  absent-mindedly. 
He  was  wondering  what  he  should  say  next.  If 
the  money  had  gone,  that  was  the  end  of  it,  unless 
he  could  induce  this  unknown  apostle,  Symonds, 
to  relax  his  hold,  which  was  improbable,  to  say 
the  least.  If  the  money  was  still  uninvested, 
there  might  be  a  chance  of  saving  it. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  in  a  hurry  to  go  into  that  sort 
of  thing  if  I  were  you,"  he  said,  assuming  a  care- 
lessness which  he  did  not  feel.  "And  don't  trust 
your  Dr.  Symonds  too  far ;  you  don't  know  any- 
thing about  his  antecedents." 

Mr.  Norton  turned  upon  him  a  pitying  smile. 
"  That's  all  right  for  you,  Mark — for  all  of  you 
who  trust  to  reason  and  logic,  and  who  make  a 
man  explain  and  prove  what  he  is  ;  but  to  those  of 
us  who  have  learned  to  trust  a  higher  guide,  In- 
tuition, there  is  no  possibility  of  being  deceived. 
I  feel,  I  know  the  integrity  of  that  man.  Mark, 
if  ever  a  man  was  inspired,  that  man  is  ;  I  wish 
you'd  go  and  have  a  talk  with  him." 


209 


Argument  was  useless,  that  Mark  saw.  The 
quiet  obstinacy  which  is  the  strength  of  depen- 
dent natures  fortified  the  large,  loose  figure  before 
him.  Direct  attack  would  be  hopeless;  whatever 
methods  he  employed  must  be  indirect  and  un- 
suspected by  their  object.  He  would  see  Mar- 
guerite and  have  a  plain  talk  with  her.  This 
matter  must  be  sifted  to  the  bottom,  whatever 
whirlwind  of  influence  was  brought  to  bear. 
Either  she,  too,  was  deeply  deceived,  and  must  be 
warned,  or — no,  she  was  true  to  her  ideals,  how- 
ever they  might  have  led  her  astray. 


XXIII 

IT  was  not  easy  to  obtain  the  coveted  interview 
with  Marguerite.  Twice  Mark  went  to  the  Cyn- 
thia, only  to  learn  that  she  was  not  at  home  ;  the 
third  time  he  found  her  surrounded  by  the  men 
and  women  of  her  little  court. 

She  flushed  as  he  took  her  offered  hand,  but 
made  no  attempt  to  detain  him  by  her  side  ;  he 
maintained  his  position  there  by  sheer  persistence, 
and  even  then  did  not  succeed  in  driving  the 
others  away.  Prince  Vladislaf  openly  disputed 
the  field  with  him,  and  some  young  men  from  the 
university  took  turns  in  claiming  the  attention 
of  their  hostess.  The  women  whom  Mark  had 
seen  at  the  studio  were  there ;  they  were  always 
there ;  he  had  grown  to  dislike  them  for  their 
constancy.  Their  ease  and  their  grace  palled 
upon  him,  and  the  concord  of  their  sweet  voices 
"made  his  ears  ache,"  he  told  himself,  "for  a 
good  old  Yankee  twang." 

What  they  said  was  as  annoyingly  accurate  as 
their  manner  of  saying  it ;  they  discussed  art  and 
music  and  the  drama  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
artist,  the  musician,  and  the  actor,  free  from  the 
illusions  of  the  unsophisticated. 


211 


Yet  with  all  this  parade  of  disillusionment, 
they  were  themselves  as  illusory  as  sylphs  or 
lorelei,  diffusing  the  atmosphere  calculated  to  be- 
wilder and  intoxicate.  Mark  felt,  as  he  watched 
them  and  listened  to  the  clever  things  they  said, 
and  which  seemed  to  occupy  them  almost  to  the 
exclusion  of  interest  in  his  reply,  that  his  hand 
would  go  through  their  dainty  draperies  and 
delicate  bodies  and  find  nothing  mortal  there, 
if  he  were  bold  enough  to  attempt  to  grasp 
them. 

They  handed  him  on  from  one  to  another  with 
the  dexterity  born  of  training  and  experience. 
His  resistance  was  utterly  ineffectual  when  op- 
posed to  their  devotion  to  the  social  game.  He 
realized  that  he  was  drifting  farther  and  farther 
from  the  spot  where  Marguerite  stood,  and  that 
he  would  soon  be  swept  out  of  reach  as  certain- 
ly as  Professor  La  Motte  and  rosy  little  Herr 
Meinzer.  Their  backward,  unreconciled  glances 
filled  him  with  dismay.  He  decided  to  make  a 
stand,  and  to  this  end  planted  his  feet  so  firmly 
and  looked  so  grim  that  the  woman  into  whose 
hands  he  had  now  fallen  inwardly  exclaimed, 
"  What  a  Berserker  !"  His  frown  changed  to  a 
smile  as  he  recognized  Mrs.  Burnham,  and  she 
smiled,  too. 

"  It  is  too  bad,  Mr.  Heffron,"  she  said,  soothing- 
ly. "  I  know  you  want  to  see  Mademoiselle  Du- 
vray,  and  you  come  so  seldom.  That  is  the  penalty 
a  man  must  pay  for  admiring  a  popular  woman." 


212 


Her  eyes  kindled  as  they  fell  upon  her  kinswoman. 
"  Isn't  she  like  a  rose  ?" 

Like  a  rose,  indeed,  appeared  the  perfect  little 
figure.  Rose-colored  was  her  gown,  and  soft  as 
petals  lay  the  folds  from  which  emerged  the  small, 
shapely  head  with  its  low,  loose  coils  of  bright 
brown  hair.  To  this  side  and  that  she  turned  with 
sympathetic  interest,  listening,  replying,  suggest- 
ing, leading  every  one  to  do  his  or  her  best. 

"  She  certainly  is  very  charming,"  replied  Mark, 
soberly,  adding,  as  he  saw  Mrs.  Burnham's  eyes 
rove  around  in  search  of  some  one  to  whom  she 
could  intrust  him,  "I  do  want  to  see  her.  I  have 
something  of  importance  to  say  to  her — something 
she  ought  to  hear." 

Mrs.  Burnham's  eyes  came  back  and  dwelt  upon 
him  steadily.  "It  is  almost  impossible  to  obtain 
a  personal  interview,"  she  replied.  "You  know 
she  lectures  every  morning  except  Saturday,  and 
afternoons  she  means  to  be  by  herself.  The  even- 
ings are  like  this,  unless  she  is  at  the  theatre  or  at 
some  reception." 

"  It  is  a  matter  of  business,"  began  Mark. 

Mrs.  Burnham's  attention  focused  immediately; 
if  there  was  anything  that  she  loved  more  than  the 
world  of  flattery  and  fine  apparel,  it  was  that  pro- 
tean shape  which  lurks  behind  the  Exchange. 

"  Some  investment  ?"  she  inquired,  framing  the 
word  almost  without  uttering  a  sound. 

"  It  has  to  do  with  an  investment,"  replied  Mark, 
evasively. 


213 


"You  know  I  take  care  of  Mademoiselle  Du- 
vray's  business,"  explained  Mrs.  Burnham,  draw- 
ing nearer  and  becoming  more  friendly.  "  I  am 
a  sort  of  relative  of  hers.  We  have  lived  togeth- 
er for  nearly  three  years  now." 

"My  business  is  with  Mademoiselle  Duvray 
herself,"  returned  Mark,  decisively.  "If  you  can- 
not obtain  me  an  interview  with  her  it  will  have 
to  wait,  that  is  all." 

"I  will  see  what  I  can  do,"  replied  the  lady, her 
eyes  beginning  again  to  roam.  "Ah,  here  is  Louise 
Ayer  ;  you  remember  Miss  Ayer  ?" 

As  Mark  turned  to  the  young  girl  he  was  con- 
scious of  a  feeling  of  relief.  She  was  looking  pale 
and  worried,  and  there  was  a  seriousness  in  her 
manner  extremely  grateful  after  the  refined  gayety 
of  the  company,  like  a  cloudy  day  after  weeks  of 
unvarying  sunshine.  He  greeted  her  with  a  cord- 
iality which  made  her  innocent  blue  eyes  open 
wide,  but  when  he  tried  to  enlist  her  sympathies 
sufficiently  to  carry  a  message  to  Mademoiselle 
Duvray,  she  shook  her  head. 

"I  can't ;  I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said.  "The  fact 
is  I  am  in  disgrace  with  Mademoiselle  Duvray  my- 
self." 

"Impossible!"  exclaimed  Mark. 

"No,"  said  Louise,  mournfully,  "  it  is  true.  It 
was,  of  course,  my  fault.  I  offended  her." 

"She  must  be  more  easily  offended  than  I 
dreamed,"  said  Mark,  gallantly. 

"No,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  tragically,  "I  knew 


214 


better.  I  knew  it  was  the  one  thing  she  would  not 
forgive.  I — "  a  ripple  of  light,  feminine  laughter 
followed  by  a  hearty  masculine  explosion  burst 
in  upon  her  words.  Mark  turned  to  see  his  cousin's 
wife  enter,  in  evening  dress,  her  fine  neck  and  arms 
bare  even  of  the  amethysts.  Something  she  said 
had  sent  her  escort,  a  portly,  elderly  gentleman, 
into  a  fit  of  laughter  that  made  him  quite  purple 
in  the  face.  All  along  her  path  she  dropped  her 
jests,  like  pebbles  in  a  quiet  pool,  until  the  gentle 
waves  of  influence  setting  out  from  Mademoiselle 
Duvray  were  all  broken  and  disarranged.  If  Mar- 
guerite felt  any  chagrin  she  did  not  show  it,  but 
graciously  presented  the  prince  and  a  young  Ital- 
ian musician  who  had  been  timidly  attentive  for 
the  past  ten  minutes.  Nellie  received  them  good- 
humoredly,  but  allowed  them  to  slip  from  her, 
together  with  the  elderly  escort,  while  she  turned 
to  Mark,  who  was  not  far  away. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Nell?"  he  inquired, 
in  a  low  tone. 

"It's  all  right,"  she  answered,  cheerfully.  "She 
left  a  card  one  day  when  she  thought  I  was  out.  I 
came  to-night  because  I  knew  she  was  in.  There 
are  some  people  here  that  I  want.  Give  me  your 
arm  to  that  fat  woman  on  the  sofa,  the  one  with 
a  fistful  of  diamonds  under  her  chin.  She  came 
to  one  of  ray  lectures  and  did  not  show  up  after- 
wards ;  I've  got  to  lasso  her  over  again." 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  obey.  Nellie  forth- 
with ensconced  herself  beside  her  truant  disciple 


215 


on  the  sofa,  which  their  voluminous  skirts  filled  to 
the  rim.  The  tide  of  interest  set  steadily  in  their 
direction  ;  the  generous  vitality  of  the  new-comer, 
her  prompt  overriding  of  conventionality  and  form, 
her  droll  remarks  addressed  to  every  one  in  gen- 
eral as  well  as  to  some  one  in  particular,  drew  like 
a  magnet.  The  prince  began  to  listen  with  one 
ear  for  the  cause  of  the  laughter  which  came  with 
periodic  regularity  from  the  sofa  in  the  corner  ; 
the  young  Italian  had  deserted  at  the  first  peal. 
Mark  recognized  his  opportunity  and  took  it ;  the 
prince  bowed  and  withdrew. 

"  Mrs.  Heffron  is  a  cousin  of  yours,  I  believe  ?" 
said  Marguerite,  glancing  towards  the  corner. 

"  A  cousin's  wife,"  corrected  Mark. 

"  She  is  very  clever,"  said  Marguerite,  civ- 
illy. 

"In  her  way,  yes,"  he  replied,  and  then,  fearing 
another  interruption,  he  continued,  hurriedly,  "I 
have  tried  to  see  you  several  times  lately.  I  have 
something  of  importance  to  say  to  you." 

Marguerite  assumed  a  listening  attitude,  her 
pretty  head  bent. 

"Not  now  !"  he  exclaimed. 

She  questioned  him  with  her  eyes. 

"  There  is  too  much  of  it  ;  it  is  too  personal." 

"  I  am  usually  very  busy,"  she  pursued. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  replied,  with  some  impa- 
tience. "But  this  concerns  friends  of  yours  and 
mine." 

"What  is  it?"  she  demanded,  with  an  imperi- 


216 


ous  little  gesture.  "No  one  will  hear  us  ;  they  are 
listening  to  Mrs.  Heffron." 

Mark  paused.  Should  he  enter  upon  a  discus- 
sion, that  required  leisure  and  his  best  effort,  in  a 
crowded  drawing-room,  Avhere  he  might  be  cut  off 
at  the  most  inopportune  moment  ?  Yet,  when 
could  he  be  sure  of  having  her  to  himself  again 
even  to  this  degree  ?  He  hesitated,  and  she  pressed 
her  advantage.  "Go  on,  please." 

"I  want  to  talk  with  you  about  old  Mr.  Nor- 
ton," he  began,  speaking  rapidly,  and  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  had  along  conversation  with  him  a  few 
days  ago,  in  which  he  confided  to  me  the  story  of 
his  relations  with  a  certain  Dr.  Symonds.  He  said 
you  took  him  to  Dr.  Symonds's  office  in  the  first 
place.  He  seems  to  have  given  himself  up  utterly 
to  the  influence  of  that  man." 

Marguerite  had  changed  color  at  his  first  words, 
but  it  might  have  been  from  irritation  rather  than 
from  embarrassment.  She  was  almost  herself  when 
she  answered,  quietly,  "What  do  you  wish  me  to 
do?" 

This  return  of  the  responsibility  to  himself 
abashed  Mark  for  an  instant ;  then  he  answered, 
bluntly,  "  Isn't  it  as  much  your  affair  as  mine?" 

"It  appears  to  me,"  replied  Marguerite,  coldly, 
"  that  it  is  neither  your  affair  nor  mine,  but  Mr. 
Norton's." 

"  It  would  be,  perhaps,  if  Mr.  Norton  was  per- 
fectly able  to  judge  for  himself,"  continued  Mark, 
"but  I  don't  think  he  is.  It  seems  to  me  a  case 


217 


which  calls  for  interference.  Unless  I  am  greatly 
mistaken,  Mr.  Norton  has  given  this  man  a  hold 
upon  him  which  is  out  of  all  reason." 

"  Mr.  Norton  has  an  impulsive  manner  of  ex- 
pressing himself  ;  you  probably  exaggerated  the 
importance  of  what  he  said,"  returned  the  clear, 
cool,  silvery  voice  of  the  woman  beside  him.  She 
was  quite  herself  now,  and  speaking  with  the  ut- 
most composure. 

Her  ease  annoyed  Mark  ;  he  felt  impelled  to 
break  in  upon  it,  ruffle  it,  hinder  and  prevent  it,  if 
by  the  roughest  handling.  "  When  it  comes  to 
relinquishing  one's  fortune  to  a  rascally  fakir,"  he 
began,  and  then  paused,  having  accomplished  his 
purpose.  The  slender  figure  beside  him  trembled 
with  indignation.  "  Take  care,  Mr.  Heffron,"  she 
said,  warningly,  "Dr.  Symonds  is  my  friend." 

"Friend  or  no,"  replied  Mark,  coolly,  "he's 
got  to  explain  his  methods,  or  I'll  show  him  up  to 
the  public.  This  isn't  the  first  time  I've  run  afoul 
of  them.  He's  a  dangerous  individual ;  I've  seen 
enough  to  convince  me  of  that." 

Marguerite  made  no  reply.  Her  agitation  had 
subsided  ;  she  had  withdrawn  into  herself,  and 
wrapped  about  her  a  veil  of  reserve  impalpable  as 
air  but  absolutely  impenetrable.  Mark  made  one 
or  two  futile  efforts  to  conciliate  her  and  then  re- 
tired. 

Louise  Ayer  was  waiting  for  him  near  the  door. 
"I  wanted  to  finish  what  I  was  saying  to  you," 
she  said,  anxiously.  "  It  was  all  my  fault  with 


218 


Mademoiselle  Duvray.  I  knew  that  she  never  al- 
lowed any  one  to  meddle  with  her  affairs,  and  that 
was  what  I  did.  It  was  my  own  fault,  and  I  am 
perfectly  wretched."  Her  eyes  were  misty  with 
unshed  tears  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"  Don't  worry,  child,"  he  answered,  comforting- 
ly. "  She'll  come  out  of  it." 

"Do  you  really  think  she  will  ?"  inquired  Louise, 
eagerly. 

"  Of  course,"  he  replied,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
tone. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  if  she  doesn't  for- 
give me,"  exclaimed  the  girl.  "It  would  just 
about  kill  me." 

"She  will,  she  will,"  returned  Mark,  cheerily. 
"  She  probably  wants  to  give  you  a  lesson,  that's 
all."  He  hoped  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth. 

The  guests  were  beginning  to  leave,  led  by  Mrs. 
Heffron,  who  had  wound  up  the  triumph  of  the 
evening  with  a  telling  jest,  and  made  her  exit,  fol- 
lowed by  applause.  She  slipped  her  hand  confid- 
ingly within  Mark's  arm,  and  made  him  take  her 
to  her  room. 

"I've  had  a  beautiful  time,"  she  said,  gayly,  as 
they  walked  down  the  long  hall,  "  and  it  did  them 
good,  too.  Live  men  and  women  want  something 
besides  art  and  elegance  ;  they  like  to  be  waked 
up  and  set  agoing.  I  told  six  or  seven  hands  and 
hit  it  right  every  time.  They'll  all  come  in  to  the 
lecture  to-morrow.  I  think  you  might  come, 
Mark." 


219 


"  Can't  possibly,  Nell ;  I've  got  important  busi- 
ness on  hand  for  to-morrow.  I'm  glad  you  en- 
joyed yourself.  Good-night !" 

But  Nellie  laid  a  detaining  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"Remember  what  I  told  you  about  Taurus  peo- 
ple," she  said,  prophetically.  "  They'll  never  give 
in  ;  there's  no  use  in  trying  to  make  them." 

"  How  about  Aries  people  ?"  he  asked  her. 

"  Oh,  they're  set  in  their  way,  but  they're  rea- 
sonable, and  when  they  become  enlightened  they're 
the  salt  of  the  earth!" 

"How  you  encourage  me,"  he  cried,  mockingly, 
and,  squeezing  her  plump  hand,  flung  away  down 
the  hall. 

She  watched  him  with  a  sigh,  then  rang  the 
bell  and  was  let  in  by  Marie. 


XXIV 

WHAT  Mark  had  said  to  her  encouraged  Lou- 
ise Ayer  for  a  while.  She  went  to  sleep  trusting 
his  assurances  that  all  would  be  well,  but  Avhen 
she  awoke  in  the  morning  it  was  with  the  un- 
defined dread  of  something  which  had  happened, 
or  would  happen,  of  harm.  "  What  is  it  ?"  she 
asked  herself ;  and  then  it  all  came  back — her  im- 
prudent questionings,  Mademoiselle  Duvray's  dis- 
pleasure, and  the  wretched  realization  that  she 
was  shut  out  from  the  favor  of  her  beloved  guide 
and  friend.  The  tears  would  come  in  spite  of 
her.  After  breakfast  she  made  her  way  to  the 
park,  hoping  to  escape  from  the  dull  ache  at  her 
heart. 

Sitting  on  a  bench  under  a  spreading  maple, 
she  was  aroused  from  her  reverie  by  a  fresh 
young  voice.  "  Aren't  you  early  ?"  it  asked. 

She  looked  up,  and  held  out  her  hand  to  Carl 
Dei'ing  with  a  smile.  "  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you," 
she  said,  warmly;  "do  sit  down." 

Carl  responded  with  the  alacrity  of  one  whose 
desire  approves  his  action.  "  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  hurry  back  to  the  office,"  he  said,  by  way  of 
apology ;  and  then,  scanning  her  face,  "  you've 


been  crying !"  lie  exclaimed.  "  What  is  it,  Lou- 
ise ?"  The  past  year  had  been  equivalent  to  many 
years,  in  their  friendship,  and  had  made  them 
"  Carl "  and  "  Louise  "  to  each  other. 

"Nothing  —  that  is,  nothing  much,"  she  re- 
sponded, blushing. 

"  You're  not  the  girl  to  cry  for '  nothing  much,' " 
said  Carl,  positively.  "Come,  out  with  it.  You 
helped  me  carry  my  load  once  upon  a  time  ;  now 
give  me  a  turn  at  yours." 

"  It  was  my  own  fault,"  said  Louise,  humbly. 

"  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  It  was  ;  I  knew  better  ;  I  meddled  with  what 
did  not  concern  me." 

"I  don't  believe  that,  either — at  least,  I  don't 
believe  you  meddled." 

"  Oh,  I  did  ;  it  didn't  concern  me  in  the  slight- 
est degree,  and  the  person  never  will  forgive 
me." 

"I'll  bet  I  know  who  the  person  is,"  said  Carl, 
sagaciously.  "  It  is  Mademoiselle  Duvray." 

Louise  looked  conscious. 

"Now  I  know  half  you  may  as  well  tell  me 
the  rest,"  pursued  the  inquisitor. 

"  Oh,  I  never  will !"  cried  Louise,  betraying  her 
secret  by  the  very  vehemence  with  which  she 
guarded  it. 

"Now  I  know!"  he  exclaimed,  triumphantly. 
"  You  quarrelled  over  me." 

Louise  blushed  furiously,  but  made  a  desper- 
ate attempt  to  throw  him  off  the  track.  "You 


conceited  creature!"  she  exclaimed;  "don't  you 
think  we  have  anything  better  to  talk  about  than 
you  ?" 

"That  depends,"  returned  Carl,  not  a  whit  dis- 
concerted. "  Now,  Louise,  tell  me  what  she  said." 

"  Talk  of  the  curiosity  of  women  !"  cried  Lou- 
ise. "  It  is  nothing  beside  that  of  men  !" 

"But  this  is  excusable,"  returned  Carl,  per- 
suasively. "It  is  necessary  for  me  to  know  how 
Mademoiselle  Duvray  feels,  so  that  I  can  tell 
how  to  behave  when  I  meet  her." 

"You  told  me  that  you  shouldn't  go  near  her 
again." 

"So  I  shall  not,  unless  she  asks  me  ;  but  I  may 
meet  her  at  the  Rosses,  or  at  your  house,  or  lots  of 
places.  Really,  Louise,  as  a  friend,  you  ought  to 
give  me  points  ;  I'm  all  in  the  dark." 

"Well,"  granted  Louise,  reluctantly,  "she  said 
you  were  too  mental.  Now  I  shall  not  tell  you 
another  word." 

"  What  did  she  mean  by  *  too  mental '  ?"  asked 
Carl,  looking  puzzled. 

"Don't  you  know — '  mental,  emotive,  and  vital ' 
— the  chart — the  three  sides  of  the  triangle — oh, 
dear,  how  shall  I  explain  ?  You  know  there  are 
three  primitive  colors — red,  blue,  and  yellow — 
red,  green,  and  violet,  some  say  now ;  and  three 
notes  in  the  major  chord — C,  E,  and  G.  So  we  are 
made  up  of  three  kinds  of  forces — mental,  emo- 
tive (or  moral),  and  physical ;  the  mental  be- 
comes the  spiritual,  you  know.  I'm  afraid  I  can't 


223 


tell  you  how  it  is,  Carl !"  She  stopped  in  de- 
spair. 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  on  !"  he  urged. 

"  Well,  you  see,  whatever  we  do  has  to  have 
all  these  forces  in  it — you  must  think,  you  must 
feel,  you  must  act ;  do  you  see  ?" 

"Yes,  go  on." 

"That's  all,  except  that  when  she  said  you 
were  too  mental  she  meant  you  thought  out  these 
things,  but  you  didn't  feel  or  act  them." 

"  Much  she  knew  about  it,"  returned  Carl,  sulkily. 

"  There,  I  knew  it  wouldn't  do  any  good  to  tell 
you  !''  exclaimed  Louise,  "and  I've  gone  and  be- 
trayed her  confidence." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  returned  Carl.  "She 
told  me  the  same  thing  herself." 

"Then  why  didn't  you — "  began  Louise,  and 
stopped. 

"I'll  tell  you  why  I  didn't,"  returned  Carl. 
"  She  and  Dr.  Symonds  wanted  me  to  '  treat,' 
and  I  didn't  want  to  do  it.  It's  too — too — per- 
sonal. It  made  me  feel  queer." 

"Perhaps  you  would  have  felt  differently  if 
you'd  gone  on,"  suggested  Louise.  "  I  suppose 
you  would  have  become  accustomed  to  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to  become  accustomed  to  it,"  he 
replied.  "I'll  tell  you,  I  felt— I  felt  as  if  I  had 
made  love  to  those  girls  whom  I  treated  ;  I  be- 
lieve love  is  a  kind  of  '  treating.' "  It  was  Carl's 
turn  to  blush  now ;  he  was  scarlet  to  the  tips  of 
his  shapely  ears. 


224 


There  was  an  embarrassing  silence,  during 
which  Louise  poked  holes  in  the  sand  with  her 
parasol. 

"  What  else  did  she  say  ?"  demanded  Carl,  at 
length. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you,"  replied  Louise, 
firmly.  "I  am  sorry  I  said  a  single  word." 

"I  knew  it  all  before,"  responded  Carl.  "  She 
said  the  same  thing  to  me,  and  that  I  lacked  force 
of  character  and  stability ;  that  she  was  disap- 
pointed in  me ;  that  she  had  granted  me  favors 
she  rarely  granted  any  one,  and  I  did  not  appre- 
ciate them  ;  and  that  if  I  trusted  to  the  Principle 
it  would  take  care  of  me." 

"And  I  told  her,"  finished  Louise,  starting  to 
her  feet,  her  eyes  flashing,  "  that  it  was  not  right 
to  get  you  out  of  your  profession  when  she  had 
not  the  slightest  idea  what  to  do  with  you.  Oh, 
dear,  what  have  I  said  ?"  She  sank  back  on  the 
bench  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

" Don't, Louise,"  pleaded  Carl;  "don't  feel  so." 

"  I  am  a  traitor!"  murmured  the  girl,  behind 
her  handkerchief. 

"You're  not!"  exclaimed  Carl.  "You're  the 
bravest,  truest  girl  I  know.  Don't  go  back  on 
yourself  in  that  way  ;  you  will  be  a  traitor  if  you 
do  that!" 

Louise  smiled  through  her  tears.  "You  see, 
Carl,"  she  said,  pathetically,  "Mademoiselle  Du- 
vray  has  been  everything  to  me.  I  was  a  delicate, 
dependent,  helpless  thing,  and  she  has  taught  me 


how  to  take  care  of  myself  and  be  a  help  to  others. 
You  don't  know  what  she  is  to  her  scholars  ;  it's 
no  wonder  they  worship  her.  I've  thought — I  used 
to  think  that  I  wouldn't  ask  for  any  greater  hap- 
piness than  to  be  just  like  her  and  help  people 
as  she  does." 

Carl  wondered  what  had  wrought  the  change 
in  her  ambition,  but  forbore  to  ask. 

"  I  realize,  now,  I  never  could  do  it,"  pursued 
Louise,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  am  so  weak ;  I  cannot 
keep  my  centre  ;  I  get  interested  in  people  and 
away  I  go."  Her  blue  eyes  were  sorrowful  with 
self-reproach  as  they  looked  at  him. 

"  Of  course  you  can't  do  it,"  he  returned,  brisk- 
ly. "You're  human,  and  she  isn't." 

"  Oh,  Carl !" 

"  She  isn't.  She  told  me  it  was  her  constant 
aim  to  'maintain  the  impersonal  relation  with 
every  one' — that  isn't  human ;  human  beings  don't 
hold  each  other  off  in  that  way.  You  can't  do  it, 
and  I'm  mighty  glad  you've  stopped  trying." 

A  wandering  breeze  came  near  at  his  words, 
and  all  the  leaves  of  the  great  maple  over  their 
heads  rustled  a  faint  applause.  Through  the 
branches  a  ray  of  sunlight  slipped,  like  uncon- 
trolled laughter,  and  ran  along  the  walk.  The 
two  young  things  felt  the  influence  of  the  sound 
and  the  sparkle.  Their  seriousness  vanished,  and 
they  smiled  at  each  other  for  the  sweetness  of 
the  spring  day  and  the  joyousness  of  it. 

"  Don't  you  see,  Louise,"  cried  the  young  man, 


226 


eagerly,  "  God  didn't  stop  making  trees  and  flow- 
ers when  he  began  to  make  animals,  and  he  didn't 
stop  making  animals  when  he  commenced  on 
man  ;  I  don't  believe  we  are  meant  to  give  up 
what  we  had  because  we  have  something  more." 

"But  you  surely  believe  in  developing  the 
spiritual  side  of  us,"  pursued  Louise,  anxiously. 

"  H'm,  yes,  I  suppose  so." 

"Oh,  Carl,  you  haven't  given  up  the  Principle? 
I  was  afraid  that  would  be  the  result  if  you  Avent 
back  into  medicine;  that  was  why  I  said  so  much 
to  Mademoiselle  Duvray — I  was  fairly  desperate." 

Carl  gave  her  an  appreciative  glance.  "You 
were  awfully  good  to  try  to  help  me,"  he  said, 
affectionately.  "But  honestly,  Louise,  I  like  this 
a  lot  better  ;  that  always  seemed  to  me  a  kind 
of  old  woman's  work,  going  round  lecturing  and 
healing — it  did,  really." 

Louise  looked  thoughtful.  "  Of  course,"  Carl 
continued,  hastily,  "  I  know  there's  a  great  deal 
in  it,  and  I  do  try  to  hold  on  to  the  Principle  ; 
but,  as  Mr.  Heffron  says,  '  You  needn't  tell  all 
you  know.' " 

"Did  you  talk  with  him  about  things?" 

"Didn't  I,  though!  If  it  wasn't  for  him  I'd 
be  in  the  street  now.  He  saw  Humphrey,  and 
persuaded  him  to  take  me  back  into  the  office. 
I  tell  you  what,  Louise,  that  man  knows  what 
he  is  talking  about!" 

«  Who— Dr.  Humphrey  ?" 

"No,  Mr.  Heffron;  and  he  doesn't  think  it  is 


227 


necessary  to  shut  yourself  off  by  yourself  and 
keep  every  one  else  at  arm's-length.  I'd  like  to 
hear  him  go  for  Mademoiselle  Duvray  !" 

"  She  won't  let  him,"  said  Louise,  sententiously. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  inquired  Carl. 

"  He  tried  to  make  me  take  a  message  to  her 
last  night,  and  of  course  I  couldn't  under  the 
circumstances.  He  managed  to  get  a  chance  to 
talk  with  her,  but  she  had  that  way  she  has  when 
she  won't  let  a  person  get  hold  of  her." 

"I  know,"  returned  Carl,  sagely,  "all  about 
'the  way.'  Louise,  she  doesn't  dare  have  it  out 
with  him.  It  would  be  the  best  thing  in  the 
world  for  her  if  she  would  marry  him." 

"Oh,  Mademoiselle  Duvray  doesn't  believe  in 
marriage,"  replied  Louise,  quickly,  "except — " 

"Except  for  those  who  cannot  get  along  with- 
out it,  I  suppose,"  interrupted  Carl,  with  warmth. 
"  That's  a  nice  thing  to  teach  her  girls." 

"  She  doesn't  teach  them  anything  of  the  sort," 
responded  Louise,  with  equal  warmth.  "Carl, 
you  do  her  injustice.  She  only  tries  to  make  her 
girls  independent  enough  so  as  not  to  give  up 
every  bit  of  their  individuality  to  the  first  man 
who  comes  along.  You  know  how  girls  are." 

"  Some  of  them,"  answered  Carl.  "  But  I  notice 
that  the  girls  who  get  so  independent  of  the  men 
turn  around  and  fall  in  love  with  her.  They  do, 
you  know  they  do,  Louise  ;  they  send  her  flowers, 
and  make  her  presents,  and  wait  on  her  just  like 
lovers." 


228 

Louise  looked  hurt.  "I  suppose  3*011  mean 
me." 

"  Partly,"  he  confessed.  "  It  provokes  me  to  see 
you  revolving  around  her  when  you  ought  to  be 
the  one  yourself  to  have  some  one  revolve  around 
you." 

His  words  and  the  gesture  with  which  he  illus- 
trated them  brought  a  smile  to  the  pensive  face 
beside  him.  "  People  have  to  like  each  other," 
lie  continued,  philosophically.  "  They  can't  help 
it  ;  they're  made  that  way.  If  it  isn't  one,  it's 
another  ;  only  I  don't  believe  the  other  can  ever 
take  the  place  of  the  one.  I  don't  think  it's  nec- 
essary or  right  to  fight  such  feelings  ;  I  believe 
we  are  meant  to  do  some  of  the  things  we  want 
to,  or  we  wouldn't  want  to  so  much." 

"Then  you  don't  pray  to  be  'delivered  from 
all  inordinate  and  sinful  affection '  ?"  inquired 
Louise,  archly. 

"  Who  would  believe  you  remembered  so  much 
of  the  old  prayer-book !"  he  exclaimed,  humor- 
ously. "No,  I  don't  think  affection  is  sinful,  and 
if  it's  inordinate  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  exam- 
ine it  carefully  and  find  out  what  to  do  with  it ; 
nothing  is  inordinate  when  you  find  a  use  for  it. 
Oh,  I've  thought  about  these  things,"  for  Louise 
was  looking  at  him  curiously.  "I'm  about  ready 
to  think,  as  Humphrey  does,  that  chemical  affin- 
ity becomes  natural  selection  higher  up,  and  nat- 
ural selection  becomes  sympathy — the  same  law; 
think  of  it,  one  force  to  hold  the  world  together  ! 


229 


Why  not  call  it  one  name — Love?"  Carl's  hon- 
est face  was  all  aglow. 

"  We  keep  saying  '  God  is  Absolute  and  Infi- 
nite,'" he  continued,  "'and  as  limited  and  finite 
beings  we  cannot  comprehend  Him,'  and  never 
realize  that  He  keeps  putting  Himself  before  us  in 
a  way  we  can  understand.  It's  of  no  use  to  stand 
on  tiptoe  and  try  to  stretch  up  to  be  like  Him, 
but  He  comes  close  to  us  and  shows  us  how  to  be 
like  Him  right  where  we  are.  I  tell  you  what, 
Louise,  I'm  awfully  tired  of  trying  to  be  a,  spirit; 
I'm  going  to  try  to  be  a  man  for  a  while."  He 
ceased  and  drew  in  a  long  breath  of  the  splendid 
spring  air.  Louise  did  not  dare  to  look  at  him  ; 
she  saw,  without  looking  at  them,  the  strong  young 
figure  and  the  winsome  face.  She  felt  the  vigorous 
pulse  beating  sturdily  and  true  to  the  true  heart 
which  directed  them ;  and  her  own  heart  gave  a 
queer  little  turn,  like  a  somersault. 

"I  must  go  home,"  she  said,  faintly,  and  arose, 
still  looking  away  from  him.  Carl  made  no  at- 
tempt to  detain  her,  and  they  walked,  side  by  side, 
in  silence,  along  the  leafy  aisles  of  the  park.  The 
breeze  blew  over  them,  and  the  leaves  rustled, 
and  the  sunbeams  romped  like  playful  hounds 
on  the  path  before  their  feet,  but  upon  the  grav- 
ity of  their  self-consciousness,  and  consciousness 
of  each  other,  these  childish  influences  could  not 
intrude. 

At  her  home  door  he  left  her,  bidding  her 
good-bye  with  the  brevity  which  promises  a 


230 


prompt  return,  and  she  responded  with  the  gen- 
tleness which  assures  a  welcome.  Then  she  sped 
on  up  to  her  own  room. 

Before  the  mirror  she  stopped  to  interrogate 
the  face  she  saw  there— shining  eyes,  parted  lips, 
cheeks  in  which  the  color  came  and  went;  whith- 
er had  vanished  the  dolorous  maid  of  the  morn- 
ing? She  recalled  Carl's  words,  "I  believe  that 
love  is  a  kind  of  '  treating.'  " 

The  girl  in  the  glass  smiled  back  at  her. 

"Isn't  he  the  queerest  boy  in  the  world?"  she 
asked  this  girl. 

"Yes,  he  is,"  the  girl  answered,  adding,  with  a 
blush,  "and  the  dearest." 

Then  came  a  pang  of  remorse  as  she  remem- 
bered how  frankly  she  had  discussed  Mademoi- 
selle Duvray  with  one,  like  herself,  out  of  favor 
with  the  absent  friend.  During  the  remainder 
of  the  day  these  two  emotions  divided  the  empire 
of  her  heart — remorse  for  the  changed  relation 
between  herself  and  her  beloved  mistress,  joy  for 
the  new  love  to  which  the  old  had  yielded,  as 
fantastic  moonlight  yields  to  the  vitalizing  influ- 
ence of  the  sun. 

"I  wish  she  could  feel  like  this,"  she  sighed,  as 
if  the  wish  were  somehow  a  reparation,  "but  I 
don't  believe  she  ever  will,"  and  the  girl  who  had 
sat  at  the  feet  of  Mademoiselle  Duvray  actually 
pitied  the  object  of  her  former  admiration. 


XXV 

MARK'S  threat  to  make  Dr.  Symonds  explain 
himself  was  not  an  idle  one.  Proving  this,  he 
sallied  forth  early  the  next  morning  in  pursuit  of 
the  healer,  so  early  that  there  was  no  one  stirring 
in  the  Enterprise  except  a  sleepy  elevator  boy, 
who  was  quite  positive  no  such  person  as  Dr. 
Symonds  roomed  in  the  building.  Cross-exam- 
ination divulged  the  fact  that  he  became  an  ele- 
vator boy  only  yesterday,  and  the  chances  were 
against  the  reliability  of  his  testimony. 

Mark  traversed  the  long,  dim  corridors,  floor 
by  floor,  growing  more  determined  and  more  bel- 
ligerent with  each  one.  The  darker  the  corner 
the  more  active  his  anticipation  of  coming  upon 
the  hoary  villain  whom  he  sought.  "Bring  on 
your  occult  forces,"  he  muttered,  stiffening  his 
biceps  and  shaking  his  fists.  "  I'm  bound  to  do 
you  up !" 

After  all,  it  was  not  in  the  shadowed  and  musty 
by-ways  of  the  old  house  but  in  the  full  radiance 
of  the  top-floor  skylight  that  he  found  the  door 
bearing  the  inscription,  "J.  G.  Symonds,  Meta- 
physician." 

He  rapped,  but  no  one  answered  ;  there  was 


232 


not  a  sound  within.  He  opened  the  door  and  en- 
tered the  room  ;  there  was  no  one  there,  even 
behind  the  screens,  for  he  examined  them  to  make 
sure. 

He  tried  the  door  into  the  adjoining  room  and 
found  it  locked  ;  then  he  sat  down  to  wait,  glan- 
cing here  and  there  at  the  contents  of  the  modest 
apartment.  There  were  books  behind  glass  doors 
and  brown  paper  envelopes  in  piles  by  themselves. 
On  a  small  table  stood  a  contrivance  for  taking 
reprints.  Folding-chairs,  a  piano,  and  a  desk  of 
ecclesiastical  pattern  were  all  the  furniture  be- 
sides the  screens  ;  there  were  two  of  these,  some 
seven  feet  high  and  coming  down  to  the  floor. 

The  minutes  passed.  Mark  grew  impatient,  and 
had  very  nearly  decided  to  relinquish  his  quest 
when  the  door  into  the  adjoining  room  opened 
softly,  and  a  slender,  dark-haired  young  man  in 
clerical  dress  appeared.  "  How  can  I  serve  you?" 
he  asked,  advancing  courteously,  and  then  stopped 
with  a  startled  look  in  his  large  black  eyes. 

Mark  sprang  forward  and  caught  him  by  the 
arm.  "  Jack  Symonds  !"  he  cried,  in  tones  of 
surprise  and  disgust,  "  for  God's  sake,  don't  say  it 
is  yvm  who  are  running  this  infernal  faking  ma- 
chine !"  Here  was  an  entirely  different  encoun- 
ter from  the  one  which  he  had  planned. 

Symonds  was  the  first  to  recover  himself. 
"  That  is  a  singular  salutation  from  you,  Heffron," 
he  returned,  calmly.  "Is  that  all  you  have  to 
say?" 


233 


His  affectation  of  unconcern  nettled  Mark. 
"  No,  it  isn't,"  he  answered,  doggedly. 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  the  healer,  leading  the 
way  to  the  inner  room. 

The  two  men  sat  down  and  looked  at  each 
other  curiously.  The  years  had  made  a  breach 
between  them  which  neither  could  have  crossed 
if  he  would.  To  the  unimpassioned  seeker  after 
spiritual  truths  the  vehemence  of  his  companion 
represented  a  phase  of  existence  from  which  he 
shrank — a  phase  to  be  feared  and  avoided.  To 
the  virile  wrestler,  hand  to  hand  and  foot  to  foot, 
with  the  greed  of  the  world  and  its  dishonesty 
and  cunning,  and  with  the  temptations  entangling 
his  own  five  senses,  the  other  was  a  coward  and  a 
renegade.  By  stretching  out  an  arm  they  could 
have  clasped  hands,  yet  they  were  worlds  apart 
and  spoke  in  different  languages.  Each  eyed  the 
other  with  the  instinctive  dislike  which  one  ani- 
mal feels  for  another  seen  for  the  first  time  and 
not  yet  tested,  the  balance  of  the  antipathy  being 
on  the  side  of  the  one  who  was  physically  the 
stronger. 

Again  Symonds  was  the  first  to  break  the  si- 
lence. 

"  What  did  you  mean  by  your  words  just 
now  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  I  might  modify  them  somewhat,"  replied 
Mark,  obstinately,  "but  they  would  mean  the 
same  thing.  I'm  sorry  it  is  with  you  that  my 
quarrel  lies,  but  I  can't  back  out  now." 


234 


"  What  is  the  quarrel,  Mark  ?"  asked  the  other, 
quietly. 

"Hang  it  all,  Jack,"  blurted  out  his  visitor, 
"if  you  want  to  be  a 'magus'  and  parade  around 
in  a  long-tailed  robe,  with  a  tiara  on,  do  it  and  be 
darned,  but  don't  go  into  it  in  this  dead-earnest 
fashion,  fooling  honest  people,  and  playing  fast 
and  loose  with — with — the  mysteries  of  life." 

"  When  the  veil  of  the  temple  was  rent  it  was 
in  token  there  should  be  no  more  mysteries,"  re- 
sponded the  healer. 

"  And  so  you  invite  in  the  American  public  to 
lift  the  lid  of  the  ark  and  finger  its  contents  ?" 

Symonds  colored  like  a  girl.  "Nothing  of  the 
sort.  I  shall  train  up  men  and  women  to  de- 
fend the  ark  because  they  appreciate  its  sacred- 
ness." 

"You  won't  do  it  with  'manuscript  lessons'  or 
a  course  of  '  treatment.' ':  Mark  was  getting  his 
bearings.  There  is  more  than  one  way  to  bully  ; 
he  had  several  at  his  disposal. 

Symonds  colored  again  more  vividly.  "  What 
do  you  know  of  my  methods?"  he  asked,  defi- 
antly. 

"Considerably  more  than  your  scholars  do. 
What  do  you  suppose  young  Dering  knew  about 
what  he  was  up  to?  You  needn't  shrug  your 
shoulders  ;  you  can't  throw  off  a  responsibility 
in  that  way.  You  influenced  him  to  give  up  his 
profession,  and  for — what  ?" 

The  healer's  pallid  face  kindled  with  indig- 


235 


nation  and  remonstrance.  "  For  opportunities 
which  a  king  might  envy  him.  I  placed  young 
Deriug  where,  if  he  had  made  the  most  of  what  I 
gave  him,  he  could  have  controlled  his  destiny. 
If  he  did  not  do  this  I  am  not  to  blame." 

"You  pushed  him  into  situations  for  which 
he  was  unprepared,  and  then  blamed  him  be- 
cause he  was  unprepared,"  rejoined  Mark,  sturdily. 
"You  can't  force  human  beings  as  you  would 
tomato-plants.  You  ought  to  have  known  that 
if  you  didn't.  As  to  controlling  his  destiny — 
bosh  !" 

The  hall  door  of  the  outer  office  opened  to  let 
in  a  small,  fair  woman  carrying  a  travelling-bag. 
From  her  manner,  as  she  stepped  briskly  into  the 
room,  Mark  guessed  that  she  had  a  right  there  ; 
from  Symonds's  manner,  as  he  hastened  to  meet 
her,  he  was  quite  sure  of  it.  ' 

She  listened  to  his  softly  uttered  explanations 
with  the  air  of  one  high  in  authority,  and  replied 
in  a  voice  which  recognized  neither  fear  nor  favor. 
"  If  he  isn't  here  on  business,  get  rid  of  him. 
You  have  no  time  for  ordinary  callers.  Besides," 
and  here  the  voice  dropped,  "you'll  take  his 
thought." 

"You'll  take  it,  too,  if  I  get  a  shot  at  you," 
mused  the  pugnacious  visitor.  "  I  wonder  if  I 
can  hit  you  at  long  range." 

But  the  little  woman  ignored  his  presence  and 
bustled  about,  arranging  the  papers  on  the  table 
and  placing  the  chairs  in  orderly  rows,  suggesting 


236 


as  plainly  as  possible,  without  words,  that  this  was 
a  busy  office,  affording  no  foothold  to  idle,  unnec- 
essary people,  who  only  got  in  the  way  and  inter- 
fered with  important  work. 

Dr.  Symonds  tiptoed  back  to  the  inner  office, 
and,  with  a  deprecating  glance  behind  him,  noise- 
lessly closed  the  door.  "  Was  it  on  Bering's  ac- 
count that  you  came;  to  see  me  ?"  he  asked,  as  he 
took  his  seat. 

"Not  entirely,"  confessed  Mark.  "I  was  more 
disturbed  on  account  of  old  Mr.  Norton." 

The  healer  lifted  his  eyebrows  questioningly. 
"Mr.  Norton  is  certainly  much  improved  in 
health,"  he  said,  "  and  happier." 

"But  he  hasn't  had  fifty  thousand  dollars' 
worth,"  was  the  blunt  reply. 

"Who  said  anything  about  fifty  thousand  dol- 
lars?" demanded  the  healer. 

"I  did,"  replied  Mark,  coolly  ;  "  and  I  have  ref- 
erence to  the  sum  which  Mr.  Norton  subscribed 
to  the  new  building  you  mean  to  erect  on  the  lake 
front."  He  Avatched  Symonds  closely,  but  the 
latter  showed  no  sign  of  discomfiture.  "I  sup- 
pose he  was  willing  to  pay  that  much  for  another 
'change  of  heart,'"  he  pursued,  significantly. 
Still  there  was  no  response.  "  But  any  common 
hypnotist  could  have  given  it  to  him  much  cheap- 
er," he  finished,  with  a  sneer. 

Dr.  Symonds  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  dark  eyes 
flashing.  What  he  intended  to  say  Mark  never 
knew,  for  the  door  suddenly  opened  and  the  small 


237 


sentinel  of  the  office  demonstrated  that  she  was 
vStill  on  guard. 

"  Dr.  Syraonds,"  she  said,  warning! y,  "  you  have 
an  engagement  at  ten,  and  it  is  now  two  minutes 
of." 

"Is  there  any  one  waiting?"  asked  'the  healer. 
He  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

She  beckoned  him  to  her.  "Are  you  crazy?" 
she  whispered.  "  That  man  is  exhausting  you. 
Send  him  away." 

He  made  some  inarticulate  response. 

"  Then  I  shall."  She  placed  herself  before  him 
and  assumed  a  threatening  air,  not  unlike  that 
with  which  a  brave  hen-sparrow  defends  her  nest. 

"  Sir,"  she  said,  authoritatively. 

"  My  name  is  Heffron,"  interposed  Mark,  with 
a  twinkle. 

"  Mr.  Heffron,"  she  repeated,  "  you  will  have 
to  wait  till  another  day.  Dr.  Symonds  is  very 
busy  this  morning." 

Mark  walked  to  the  door  of  the  office  and 
looked  out.  There  was  no  one  in  the  outer  room. 
He  walked  back  and  sat  down. 

"  He  has  several  absent  treatments  to  give,"  she 
explained  ;  "  besides,  it  is  contrary  to  our  custom 
to  sit  and  talk.  If  you  want  anything  of  us  in  a 
business  way,  please  state  your  errand." 

Mark  smiled  upon  her  quizzically.  "  I  think 
I'll  wait  until  Dr.  Symonds  gets  through,"  he  an- 
swered, easily.  The  little  woman  went  out  and 
shut  the  door. 


238 


For  full  half  an  hour  Mark  was  left  to  his  own 
reflections,  and  he  found  them  enormously  enter- 
taining. The  whole  affair  had  gradually  assumed 
for  him  the  proportions  of  a  huge  joke,  and  it  was 
in  this  spirit  that  he  took  up  the  thread  of  the 
discussion  when  Dr.  Symonds  returned. 

"Your  wife  tells  me,"  he  began,  cheerfully — "  I 
suppose  she  is  your  wife,  or  would  be  on  our '  plane 
of  thought '  ?" 

Dr.  Symonds  inclined  his  head  in  affirmation. 

"Your  wife  tells  me  that  I  am  making  an  unus- 
ual demand  upon  your  valuable  time  ;  that  you 
do  not  allow  your  influence  to  drip  away  in  pro- 
longed interviews,  but  condense  it  into  occasional 
acts  of  mercy.  Don't  you  think  that  is  rather 
going  back  on  ourselves,  to  develop  into  isolated 
intelligences  which  only  come  in  contact  for  the 
discharge  of  some  beneficent  function  ?  What  is 
to  become  of  all  the  delightful  gossipings,  the 
comforting  convivialities  ?  Many  of  us  have  to 
become  warmed  up  by  prolonged  intercourse  Avith 
our  fellow-beings  before  we  can  give  out  any- 
thing ;  what  is  to  become  of  us  ?" 

Mark  was  enjoying  himself  after  his  own  fash- 
ion, but  the  imperturbable  healer  did  not  abate 
his  seriousness.  "  What  is  to  become  of  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  which  we  are  to  seek  '  first  of  all '  ?" 
he  asked. 

Mark  was  saved  the  exposure  of  his  ignorance 
on  this  point  by  the  return  of  the  little  sentinel, 
announcing  impatiently,  "Dr.  Symonds,  there 


239 

is    some    one    here    who  wishes  to    speak    with 
you  !"  f 

In  his  exit  Dr.  Symonds  left  the  door  ajar  only' 
an   instant,  but  in  that  instant  Mark  caught  a> 
glimpse  of  some  one  who  was  really  there   this 
time.      He  saw  quite  plainly  the  trim  gown  and 
jaunty  hat  which  suited  their  wearer  as  its  plum- 
age suits  the  bird  ;  he  recognized  the  low,  loose 
coil   of    bright   brown    hair,    the   compact,  well- 
poised  figure  ;  and  his  jesting  mood  left  him. 

Why  was  Marguerite  there?  Was  it  her  cus- 
tom to  consult  this  psychic  guide  ?  Good  heav- 
ens, what  a  pull  he  had,  combining  the  influence 
of  the  physician  with  that  of  the  priest !  How 
complacently  he  smiled  as  he  returned  to  the  inner 
office  !  Mark's  fingers  tingled  to  lay  hold  of  him 
and  squeeze  the  smile  out  of  him. 

"  It  won't  do  for  you  to  carry  this  thing  too  far, 
Symonds,"  he  began,  superciliously.  "  There  are 
too  many  people  taking  aim  for  you.  I  have  in 
my  pocket  now  a  letter  inquiring  about  that  fifty 
thousand  dollars  you  took  from  Norton." 

"  I  took  no  money  from  Norton,  except  a  small 
fee  for  attendance,"  interrupted  the  healer. 

"  The  money  you  intend  to  take,"  corrected 
Mark,  adding,  to  himself,  "Thanks  for  that  much 
information." 

"Is  that  all  you  have  to  say?"  inquired  Sy- 
monds, with  dignity. 

"All  but  a  word  of  caution.  Fly  low.  Don't 
soar  so  high  that  you  can't  get  to  cover  ;  and 


240 


take  care  how  you  meddle  with  souls ;  it's 
risky." 

"  Take  care  how  you  meddle  with  my  soul  and 
its  mission  !"  retorted  the  healer,  spiritedly.  "I 
can't  understand  you,  Heffron.  Years  ago,  in 
college,  you  agreed  with  me  that  this  tiling  ought 
to  be  done,  that  philosophy,  science,  and  religion 
should  join  hands,  and  faith  be  made  a  working 
principle.  You  said — " 

He  paused,  for  the  scowling  face  before  him 
had  changed  like  an  April  sky,  and  was  all  sunned 
over  with  smiles.  "Don't  stop  !"  cried  its  owner. 
"Don't  stop  !  Go  on.  What  else  did  I  say?" 

"  You  said,  '  It  is  the  thought  of  the  world 
which  creates  its  atmosphere  ;  unhappy  and  un- 
wholesome conditions  are  made  by  the  mind  ;  the 
realities  are  beautiful  and  good,  and  if  all  would 
see  them  so  we  could  work  on  a  common  basis 
and  bring  out  into  form  the  beauty  and  goodness 
which  exist  as  spiritual  realities.' " 

Mark  gave  a  sigh  of  satisfaction.  "  That's  it ; 
that  was  the  hobby  I  kept  moving  until  I  went 
into  business  in  New  York.  Business  killed  it. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  business,  Sy- 
nionds  ?  Did  you  ever  do  business  on  that  basis  ?" 

"It  is  the  only  way  to  do  business  properly," 
responded  Symonds,  with  confidence. 

"You  try  it,"  returned  Mark,  with  a  bitter 
laugh.  "  Try  it,  Symonds — but  don't  take  Norton 
and  his  fifty  thousand  dollars  along  with  you." 
He  grew  grave  as  he  thought  of  the  trusting  old 


man,  graver  yet  as  he  remembered  Marguerite. 
So  it  was  his  own  philosophy,  warmed  over,  which 
drew  her  to  Symonds,  and  Symonds  probably 
worked  the  vein  for  all  it  was  worth.  He  eyed 
him  suspiciously. 

"  Of  course  we  did  not  determine  then  how  re- 
ligion should  become  an  applied  science,"  Symonds 
was  saying,  "  and  I  never  heard  it  discussed  at 
the  theological  seminary,  although  we  were  con- 
fronted by  the  Avords,  '  Heal  the  sick  and  preach 
the  gospel.'  While  I  was  in  charge  of  my  first 
parish  Mrs.  Symonds  was  taken  very  ill.  We  did 
everything  ;  I  carried  her  everywhere  ;  but  the 
doctors  declared  nothing  could  be  done.  Finally 
we  fell  in  with  some  people  who  believed  as  we 
did.  We  studied  with  them,  and  Mrs.  Symonds 
recovered  by  the  application  of  this  Principle.  Of 
course  the  case  attracted  public  attention.  Peo- 
ple came  from  far  and  near  for  treatment.  We 
were  fairly  forced  into  the  work." 

. il  So  Mrs.  Symonds  was  really  the  means  of 
your  conversion,"  said  Mark.  "  She  had  to  apply 
your  theories  for  you."  He  was  still  thinking  of 
Marguerite,  and  wondering  if  there  must  always 
be  a  woman  to  lead  a  man  where  he  would  go. 

"  Mrs.  Symonds  has  been  and  is  of  great  as- 
sistance," returned  the  healer.  "  I  know  of  no 
one  who  is  so  helpful  in  the — the  Realization." 

"  Realization  of  what  ?"  inquired  Mark. 

"  Of  the  Principle,"  replied  the  healer,  "  of 
course." 

16 


242 


"  How  do  you  know  it  isn't  the  realization  of 
Mrs.  Symonds  ?"  suggested  Mark,  with  a  smile. 

The  healer  started  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

"You  seem  so  cocksure  of  the  whole  business," 
pursued  the  irreverent  visitor.  "  How  do  you 
know,  when  you  get  these  telephotiic  communi- 
cations, where  they  come  from?  You  needn't 
get  angry  over  it !"  for  the  healer  had  again 
started  from  his  seat.  "  You've  brought  this  on 
yourself.  You've  set  yourself  up  as  an  authority 
on  these  matters.  You  know;  you're  a  '  Gnostic '/ 
now,  how  do  you  know  ?" 

The  face  of  the  healer  changed  as  he  stood 
there  before  his  accuser.  A  look,  reminiscent  and 
tender,  passed  over  it.  "  I  know,"  he  said,  with 
gentle  emphasis,  "  because  I  have  experienced" 

Mark  felt  the  power  of  his  patience,  and  be- 
cause he  felt  it  and  knew  that  it  must  have  had 
an  influence  over  others  struck  out  against  it 
brutally. 

"  That's  all  right  for  you,  yourself,"  he  ex- 
claimed, harshly  ;  "  but  when  it  comes  to  having 
experiences  for  other  people,  that's  another  thing. 
We've  got  rid  of  kings — in  this  country,  at  least ; 
we've  got  rid  of  priests — some  of  us ;  we've  got 
to  get  rid  of  creatures  like  you,  who  step  in  and 
offer  to  save  people  from  the  consequences  of 
their  own  acts.  Who  are  they  that  come  to  you, 
anyway  ?  A  lot  of  silly  women,  some  doting  old 
men,  and  a  few  green  boys.  What  do  you  know 
about  how  a  man  feels — you,  without  any  red 


243 


blood  in  your  veins?  Because  your  little  pint- 
pot  of  desires  is  full  you  needn't  think  you  can 
satisfy  the  cravings  of  others  with — lake  water 
and  a  pinch  of  snuff."  Mark  had  begun  to  rant, 
and  he  knew  it.  "  I  must  go,"  he  said,  hurried- 
ly, looking  at  his  watch.  "  We  should  not  agree 
on  these  matters  if  we  talked  a  thousand  years." 

"No,"  responded  the  healer,  gravely.  "You 
do  not  understand  ;  you  will  not  understand." 

There  were  two  women  and  a  child  waiting  in 
the  outer  office.  The  child  carried  a  crutch. 
Mrs.  Symonds  was  talking  with  them,  and  did 
not  look  up  when  Mark  tramped  heavily  through 
the  room.  As  he  reached  the  entrance  of  the 
building  and  passed  out  into  the  street  he  drew 
a  long  breath  and  shook  himself  as  a  big  dog 
shakes  himself  upon  emerging  from  the  water. 
"  By  Jove,"  he  murmured,  "  I'd  like  a  Martigny 
cocktail  and  a  strong  cigar.  I  never  felt  so  con- 
spicuously and  predominantly  animal  as  in  that 
atmosphere  of  condensed  spirituality." 

It  was  not  until  he  had  drunk  the  cocktail  and 
was  puffing  vigorously  away  at  the  cigar  that  he 
attempted  to  recall  what  Symonds  had  said  of 
his  own  long-lost  philosophy.  "  It  sounded  very 
pretty  as  he  got  it  off,"  he  mused,  "  but  I  can't 
remember  a  blessed  word  of  it  now.  Well,  he's 
welcome  to  all  he  can  make  out  of  it.  I  believe 
I've  had  about  enough  of  the — Symbolists." 

He  finished  his  cigar  and  wrote  a  long  letter 
to  Joey  full  of  Mark-Heffron-isms. 


XXVI 

IT  was  by  no  means  in  accordance  with  the 
habits  of  Mademoiselle  Duvray  to  seek  an  in- 
terview with  Dr.  Symonds  at  his  office  early  on 
a  week-day  morning.  No  one  was  more  surprised 
than  Dr.  Symonds  himself  when  he  saw  her  stand- 
ing by  the  office  table,  nervously  turning  over  a 
paper  which  she  found  there.  She  looked  up  at 
his  approach,  and  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were 
heavy. 

"I  have  not  slept,"  she  said,  hui'riedly.  "I  am 
very  nervous,  and  I  must  lecture  at  eleven  to-day. 
Will  you  help  me  ?" 

Dr.  Symonds  promised  to  do  his  best,  trying  to 
keep  down  a  climbing  exultation  which  threat- 
ened to  mount  into  his  voice  and  the  expression 
of  his  face.  She  had  come  at  last — this  inde- 
pendent woman  who  wanted  his  philosophy,  his 
rules  of  conduct,  his  incentives  to  faith,  and  who 
cheerfully  sent  her  friends  to  partake  of  his  psy- 
chical medicine,  but  who  had  always  disclaimed 
for  herself  any  need  of  such  assistance. 

"  My  battle  is  not  with  aches  and  pains,"  she 
had  said,  "  and  I  have  no  nerves  ;  what  I  want  is 
something  to  live  by/'  She  had  taken  his  various 


245 


"Courses  of  Instruction,"  had  bought  his  manu- 
script lessons  and  his  little  books,  but  of  his  per- 
sonal, professional  attention  she  knew  absolutely 
nothing.  He  had  thought  he  detected  a  doubt 
in  her  attitude,  and  it  had  increased  what  might 
have  become  a  doubt  in  his  own  heart  if  permit- 
ted to  develop.  This  proof  of  her  confidence  sent 
him  back  to  the  inner  office  fortified  to  meet  what 
awaited  him  there. 

She  looked  after  him  irresolutely,  half  tempted 
to  call  him  to  her  and  withdraw  her  commission, 
and  then  she  saw  through  the  half-open  door  the 
broad  shoulders  and  massive  head  of  the  man  who 
was  sitting  there. 

"Did  you  want  to  speak  to  the  doctor?"  asked 
Mrs.  Symonds. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  replied  Marguerite.  A  child- 
ish impulse  seized  her  to  run  away.  It  was  Avith 
an  effort  that  she  walked  deliberately  out  of  the 
room,  followed  by  Mrs.  Symonds,  who  kept  up  a 
blithe  chatter  as  long  as  it  could  be  heard.  Empty 
of  meaning  as  the  twitter  of  the  sparrows  with- 
out, it  came  to  Marguerite's  ears.  She  was  more 
disturbed  than  she  cared  to  acknowledge.  To 
find  in  her  last  refuge  the  menace  to  her  peace 
thi'ew  her  back  upon  herself — a  feeble,  fluttering 
self,  shaken  by  unwonted  sleeplessness  and  ap- 
prehension. Hardly  knowing  what  she  did,  she 
walked  rapidly  down  the  street  and  turned  her 
face  towards  Lincoln  Park.  It  was  not  long  be- 
fore the  exhilai*ation  of  the  exercise  had  brought 


246 


back  her  self-command.  By  the  time  she  reached 
the  green  sward  and  the  trees  she  had  commenced 
to  think  coherently  and  reasonably. 

This  was  really  nothing  new,  she  told  herself  ; 
it  was  merely  an  old  conflict  resumed.  If  her  be- 
lief in  the  principles  which  she  advocated  and  at- 
tempted to  apply  had  been  sure,  she  would  not 
have  run  away  from  Mark  Heffron  at  Beau  Lieu; 
she  would  have  stood  her  ground  and  let  him  say 
what  he  pleased. 

The  evasion  had  been  only  a  postponement  of 
what  must  come  sooner  or  later ;  she  could  not 
always  run  away.  Besides,  she  no  longer  stood 
alone.  There  were  her  pupils  and  her  friends 
dependent  upon  her — dependent  upon  her  theo- 
ries. She  had  proved  that  she  was  right  by  her 
success,  by  her  helpfulness,  by  the  happiness  she 
had  enjoyed  until  now.  Then  what  did  she  fear? 
Why  did  the  sight  of  Mark  Heffron  in  Dr.  Sy- 
monds's  office  fill  her  with  perturbation  ?  Why 
was  she  unwilling  to  have  her  new  teacher  exam- 
ined by  her  old  one  ?  Was  it  entirely  because 
she  sympathized  with  the  gentle,  sensitive  nature 
of  the  metaphysician  and  hated  to  have  it  hurt, 
or  was  it  partly  because  she  could  not  bear  to  have 
his  comfortable  words  disproved  ?  She  pulled 
herself  up  short  with  a  feeling  of  irritation.  Why 
should  she  examine  her  motives  and  analyze  her 
thoughts  in  this  fashion  ?  She  was  losing  all  her 
buoyancy,  all  her  relish  of  this  good  and  beauti- 
ful world.  That  aggressive  personality  which  she 


247 


could  not  walk  away  from  was  to  blame  for  this. 
She  looked  back  over  the  months  since  she  met 
Mark  Heffron  ;  how  secure  and  how  free  she  had 
been  then  !  Now  even  her  teaching  had  grown 
petty  and  irksome.  She  was  continually  asking 
herself  the  use  of  it,  and  if  she  really  meant  what 
she  said.  The  women  who  followed  and  imitated 
her  seemed  so  many  puppets  whose  strings  she 
pulled.  The  men  who  admired  her  were  vainly 
marshalled  to  preserve  the  balance  of  power.  The 
elegance  of  Prince  Vladislaf  and  the  learning  of 
Herr  Meinzer  had  become  alike  wearisome.  A 
laughing  face  looked  at  her  over  their  shoulders 
and  a  mocking  voice  derided  what  they  said. 

Mrs.  Burnham  had  been  a  better  bulwark  ;  be- 
hind her  matter-of-fact  attitude  Marguerite  had 
often  intrenched  herself.  But  Mrs.  Burnham  par- 
took of  the  New  Thought  only  as  a  means  of 
social  advancement ;  its  virtue,  in  her  eyes,  was 
that  it  paid. 

There  were  others  who  claimed  Mademoiselle 
Duvray  as  of  their  number — not  openly,  but  in 
their  meetings  among  themselves.  They  were  for 
the  most  part  intellectual  or  religious  Bohemians, 
having  little  to  relinquish  in  the  way  of  authority 
or  tradition.  But  they  recognized  the  necessity 
of  caution  on  her  part,  and,  proud  of  her  position 
and  influence,  took  care  not  to  hazard  these  by  im- 
prudent allusions  to  her  in  public. 

It  was  not  until. recently  that  she  had  felt  re- 
sponsible for  her  acquaintance  with  these  pco- 


248 


pie,  although  it  had  been  a  comfort  to  turn  from 
them  to  leaders  like  Haridass  Goculdass  and  Dr. 
Symonds.  In  the  services  conducted  by  the  lat- 
ter she  had  found  her  greatest  help,  especially 
since  the  Rosses  and  the  Ayers,  Carl  Dering,  and 
old  Mr.  Norton  had  become  regular  attendants. 
The  little  chapel  had  appeared  sometimes  to 
pulsate  with  warmth  and  radiance  from  the  sym- 
pathy and  the  devotion  which  were  concentrated 
there. 

Of  late  there  had  been  a  change  in  the  atmos- 
phere— a  shadow  and  a  chill,  an  uncertainty,  a 
foreboding,  as  of  an  approaching  crisis.  They 
were  all  conscious  of  it.  Carl  Dering  no  longer 
sat  with  bowed  head,  but  tipped  back  in  his 
chair  and  measured  the  words  of  the  preacher. 
Old  Mr.  Norton,  who  used  to  go  out  of  his  way 
to  say  good-morning,  shuffled  in  and  out  without 
stopping  to  speak  to  any  one.  There  had  been 
discussions  among  the  women,  of  ways  and  means, 
and  talk  of  a  bazaar  to  raise  funds  for  necessary 
expenses.  The  machinery  had  commenced  to 
creak  and  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was 
machinery.  Hitherto  the  vehicle  of  worship  and 
benediction  had  seemed  a  live  thing,  sustaining 
itself.  This  had  all  happened  since  Mark  Heffron 
came  to  Chicago.  Something  must  be  done ; 
some  one  must  withstand  this  unfriendly  influ- 
ence. Thought  against  thought,  will  against  will, 
faith  against  doubt,  the  battle  must  be  fought, 
and  by  whom  but  herself?  It  was  to  her  that  he 


249 


came  first  with  his  questions  and  criticisms.  He 
had  gone  to  Dr.  Syraonds  only  when  she  refused 
to  talk  with  him. 

She  began  to  review  the  argument  for  the  non- 
existence  of  Matter  and  Evil.  Every  word  of  it 
was  familiar  to  her,  she  had  quoted  it  so  many 
times  to  those  whom  she  was  trying  to  convince. 
It  had  always  been  received  without  dispute,  yet 
now  with  feminine  timidity  she  held  it  up  to  the 
light  and  looked  through  it  suspiciously.  The 
rest  of  Dr.  Symonds's  sj'stem  of  philosophy  was 
not  unlike  Mark  Heffron's  own  belief  in  the  power 
of  thought,  but  how  could  one  get  a  resting-place 
for  this  lever  on  a  slippery  world  of  Matter  and 
Evil  ?  "  Have  you  got  away  from  Matter  ?"  had 
been  a  favorite  question  among  her  metaphysical 
friends,  and,  absurd  as  it  might  sound  in  the  ears 
of  the  uninitiated,  it  stood  for  a  most  important 
emancipation.  Some  of  them  spent  hours  "deny- 
ing" Matter  and  Evil,  enemies  she  found  it  easier 
to  ignoi'e,  as  she  found  it  easier  to  run  away  from 
Mark  Heffron.  Possibly  this  was  the  reason  of 
her  unrest.  If  she  would  only  face  it  out  with 
her  antagonist  and  settle,  once  for  all,  the  grounds 
of  her  belief,  then  she  might  go  on  to  radiant 
heights  of  perfection.  The  thought  steadied  her 
and  gave  her  peace.  "That  is  it,"  she  decided. 
"That  is  the  solution  of  the  problem.  Who 
knows?  It  may  be  given  to  me  to  lead  him  into 
the  right  path.  I  will  see  him.  I  will  talk  to 
him  fearlessly."  Light  of  heart  again,  and  light 


250 


of  foot,  she  retraced  her  way  through  the  park, 
no  more  a  weak,  timorous  woman,  but  a  part  of 
the  Universal  Harmony.  As  such,  the  resources 
of  the  universe  were  at  her  command.  She  looked 
around,  ready  to  appropriate  whatever  was  need- 
ed. Moving  leisurely  along  towards  the  entrance 
came  —  not  the  manifestation  of  her  exalted 
thought,  but  a  boy  in  blue  uniform  sprinkled 
with  brass  buttons.  She  beckoned  him  to  her, 
and  gave  him  the  portentous  words  written  in 
pencil  on  a  visiting-card  and  enclosed  in  the  enve- 
lope he  furnished  her:  "If  you  will  call  upon 
me  at  the  Cynthia  this  evening  I  shall  deem  it  a 
favor."  Her  hand  trembled  as  she  addressed  the 
envelope  to  Mark  Heffron  at  his  hotel,  and  the 
boy  looked  interested.  This  was  not  the  first 
romantic  episode  which  had  been  outlined  before 
his  keen  eyes.  "Where'll  I  bring  the  answer?" 
he  asked,  briskly. 

"  There  will  be  no  answer,"  she  replied,  and 
wheeled  abruptly.  He  gazed  after  her  inquiring- 
ly for  a  minute,  and  then  went  off  whistling. 

In  her  haste  to  be  rid  of  him  she  had  turned 
down  the  nearest  path  and  did  not  pause  till  the 
sound  of  voices  stopped  her.  Not  twenty  rods 
away,  on  a  bench  under  a  spreading  maple,  sat 
Louise  Ayer  and  Carl  Dering,  too  much  occupied 
in  what  they  were  saying  to  notice  her  approach. 
She  heard  distinctly,  in  Louise's  clear  soprano, 
"  I  told  her  it  was  not  right  to  get  you  out  of  your 
profession — "  and  waited  to  hear  no  more. 


251 


So  this  was  the  way  these  two,  whom  she  be- 
lieved to  be  her  devoted  pupils,  met  to  criticise 
and  condemn  her!  A  fierce  glow  eclipsed  and  su- 
perseded the  white  light  of  inspiration  in  which 
she  had  been  enveloped.  When  she  arrived  at 
the  studio  it  had  burned  through  to  heart  and 
brain,  and  utterly  effaced  the  argument  for  the 
non-existence  of  Evil. 

Unfortunately,  it  is  the  fate  of  philosophy  as 
well  as  of  romance  to  be  put  to  the  test  by  the 
very  world  it  would  escape  and  which  cunningly 
applies,  not  the  mighty  blows  which  philosophy 
.  and  romance  are  prepared  to  meet,  but  the  pin-J 
y^pricks  which  they  cannot  endure.  ^  Not  only  was 
Louise  Ayer  absent  from  class,  but  the  Ross  girls 
also  failed  to  appear.  The  hour  dragged  in  spite 
of  the  lecturer's  best  efforts,  and  while  it  dragged 
who  should  appear  but  Madame  Heffron,  smiling 
and  serene  as  the  sunlight  without,  and  attended 
by  two  large,  determined-looking  women  who  had 
an  air  of  being  present  to  see  fair  play. 

Nellie  had  not  come  uninvited.  There  had 
been  plenty  of  talk  about  her  and  her  methods 
among  the  various  representatives  of  the  New 
Thought;  for  there  are  degrees  of  orthodoxy 
among  the  unorthodox.  Marguerite  had  been 
asked,  "  Shall  you  call  on  her?  Shall  you  invite 
her  to  hear  you  speak  ?"  and,  assuming  a  gener- 
osity which  she  did  not  wholly  feel,  she  had  de- 
clared her  intention  of  calling  and  extending  the 
courtesies  of  the  studio.  On  the  whole,  this  was 


252 


the  wiser  course.  Some  of  Marguerite's  pupils 
had  gone  to  Nellie,  and  some  of  Nellie's  to  Mar- 
guerite. One  well-meaning  woman  had  done  her 
gentle  best,  by  repeating  whatever  each  said  that 
was  kind  of  the  other,  to  reconcile  the  two  leaders. 
She  was  present  this  morning  and  effusively  con- 
ciliatory. 

Madame  Heffron  was  fully  as  prominent  as  the 
mistress  of  the  studio ;  she  had  led  her  compan- 
ions to  the  most  conspicuous  seats  in  the  room. 
Marguerite  looked  unusually  girlish  as  she  stood 
up  before  them. 

The  lecture  was  over,  and  the  half-hour  which 
should  be  devoted  to  personal  application  was  al- 
ready due.  The  instructor  proceeded  with  some 
misgivings,  for  the  class  were  on  the  gesture 
chart,  and  were  to  illustrate  it  with  sight-read- 
ings from  "As  You  Like  It."  She  longed  for 
Louise  Ayer  and  the  Ross  girls,  but  Louise  Ayer 
was  sitting  under  a  maple-tree  at  Lincoln  Park 
with  Carl  Dering,  and  no  one  knew  where  the 
Rosses  were.  She  called  on  Grace  Merriam,  who 
was  not  always  to  be  depended  on,  but  occasion- 
ally surprised  herself  and  every  one  else  by  a 
brilliant  performance.  Alas,  poor  Grace  became 
hopelessly  entangled  in  upward  curves  and  down- 
ward curves,  and  finally  came  to  a  standstill.  "  I 
cannot  do  it,  Mademoiselle  Duvray,"  she  said,  de- 
spairingly. 

"  You  went  through  all  this  only  a  week  ago," 
exclaimed  her  teacher,  betraying  a  rare  annoy- 


253 


ance.  Madame  Heffron  and  her  big  attendants 
seemed  to  fill  the  room.  It  was  impossible  to 
send  over  or  around  them  the  influence  which 
should  draw  together  the  straying  interest  of  the 
class.  Mrs.  Bateman,  the  woman  with  peace- 
making ambitions,  hurried  to  the  rescue,  losing 
her  head  completely  in  her  zeal  to  be  of  use.  She 
asked  foolish  questions  and  made  pointless  re- 
marks, until  Marguerite  felt  a  most  unphilosoph- 
ical  desire  to  take  her  by  the  shoulders  and  put 
her  out  of  the  place.  Finally  she  begged  Ma- 
demoiselle Duvray  to  read  something.  Madame 
Heffron  seconded  the  request  and  settled  herself 
comfortably  in  her  chair,  preparing  to  be  enter- 
tained. 

Marguerite  could  not  refuse  without  appearing 
ungracious.  She  looked  about  her  for  a  book,  and 
picked  up  the  first  which  came  to  her  hand.  It 
was  the  Spectator — a  most  unfortunate  selection. 
Waves  of  anguish  crossed  Mrs.  Bateman's  face. 
Why  could  it  not  have  been  one  of  those  dainty 
Dobson  things  which  Mademoiselle  Duvray  read 
so  cleverly,  or  the  Portrait,  or  even  dear  old  San- 
dalphon — with  that  she  could  have  lifted  her  lis- 
teners to  the  very  gate  of  heaven ! 

Marguerite  ploughed  gallantly  on  through  the 
involved  sentences,  stopping  now  and  then  to  em- 
phasize an  example  or  apply  a  rule  ;  but,  despite 
her  musical  voice  and  accurate  inflection,  the 
reading  was  tedious — a  new  experience  for  the 
studio.  Every  one  was  glad  when  it  was  over, 


254 


with  possibly  the  exception  of  the  unwelcome 
guest,  who  could  not  be  expected  to  mourn  the 
discomfiture  of  her  rival.  Half  the  class  turned 
to  her,  ready  for  the  audacious  sallies  which  they 
had  learned  to  expect  from  her  lips.  The  other 
half,  with  defiant  loyalty,  rallied  around  Made- 
moiselle Duvray.  Thus  the  two  women  met. 
Madame  Heffron  opened  the  ball  with  an  allu- 
sion to  Addison's  great-great-grandniece,  whom 
she  had  met.  Mademoiselle  Duvray  responded 
with  a  description  of  Addison's  great-great-grand- 
daughter, whom  she  knew  quite  well.  Madame 
Heffron  spoke  of  the  English  schools  which  she 
had  visited,  and  Mademoiselle  Duvray  was  ready 
with  a  comparison  of  English  methods  with  Ger- 
man. Then  they  both  tried  France,  and  found 
they  were  equally  at  home  there.  The  group  of 
young  girls  and  matrons  listened  attentively,  and 
with  the  impartial  mien  of  a  jury. 

"  They  would  throw  me  over  in  a  minute," 
thought  Marguerite,  bitterly,  "  if  they  consid- 
ered it  for  their  advantage  to  do  so  ;  if  they 
believed  she  could  give  them  wider  opportu- 
nities, showier  attainments,  more  ease  in  socie- 
ty, more  influence  at  home.  The  impudence  of 
her,  coming  into  my  studio  to  steal  my  schol- 
ars !" 

Quietly  but  firmly  she  asserted  her  superiority 
over  her  visitor,  who  with  equal  firmness,  if  not 
so  quietly,  asserted  her  superiority  over  her  host- 
ess. Both  displayed  a  remarkable  familiarity 


255 


with  the  business  methods  of  women,  which, 
compared  with  men's  more  desperate  efforts  to 
bear  each  other  down,  are  "  as  moonlight  unto 
sunlight  and  as  water  unto  wine."  The  jury 
was  divided,  and  when  the  evidence  was  all  in 
went  off  in  pairs  to  consider  it. 

Marguerite  was  left  to  reflect  upon  the  singu- 
lar misfit  of  human  emotions  and  the  situations 
in  which  they  find  themselves.  If  she  bad  been 
less  in  earnest,  the  inapplicability  of  the  argu- 
ment for  the  non-existence  of  evil  to  the  exigen- 
cies of  the  occasion  might  have  sent  her  into 
healing  fits  of  laughter  ;  but  she  took  herself  and 
her  moods  too  seriously  for  that.  She  went  home 
hurt  and  sore,  wondering  over  the  trick  which 
Fate  had  played  her,  lifting  her  to  heights  of 
divine  illumination  only  to  drop  her  into  the 
midst  of  the  scuffle  which  attends  success  in  all 
professions,  even  with  those  dealing  with  spirit- 
ual demand  and  supply. 

A  pile  of  letters  waited  on  her  table.  She 
selected  one  bearing  a  crest,  and  opened  it  with 
a  feeling  of  expectancy.  She  read  it  slowly,  as 
one  tastes  a  tempting  dish.  Mrs.  Burnham 
watched  her  hungrily. 

"  It  is  from  Prince  Vladislaf's  sister,"  said 
Marguerite  at  length,  trying  to  keep  the  triumph 
out  of  her  voice.  "  She  invites  me  to  visit  her 
at  St.  Petersburg." 

She  read  the  letter  to  Mrs.  Burnham,  who  in- 
terposed pious  ejaculations  of  delight. 


256 


"  Of  course  you  will  accept !"  she  cried,  in  con- 
clusion. 

"  I  think  so,"  replied  Marguerite,  temperately, 
"  and  I  think  I  shall  go  abroad  earlier  than  I  pro- 
posed. Let  me  see,  May  20th.  We  have  en- 
gaged passage  for  June  30th.  "Write  and  ex- 
change it,  if  possible,  for  the  9th." 

"Can  you  finish  your  work  by  the  5th?  We 
shall  have  to  start  by  then." 

"Oh  yes,"  returned  Marguerite.  She  was  al- 
ready arranging  the  words  in  which  she  should 
inform  her  pupils  of  the  alteration  in  their  sched- 
ule, necessitated  by  her  engagements  at  Paris  and 
St.  Petersburg. 

Her  spirits  rose  as  she  began  to  plan  for  the 
summer,  and  to  picture  to  herself  the  brilliance 
and  the  charm  of  the  world  into  which  she  was 
going.  That  was  her  life — the  life  of  elegance  and 
of  art.  In  the  very  thought  of  it  all  her  pruned 
and  lattice-bound  instincts  began  to  stir  and  strive, 
and  to  stretch  out  tendrils  of  hope  and  gladness. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Burnham, 
suddenly;  "Dr.  Symonds  was  here  just  before 
you  came  in.  He  wanted  me  to  call  him  up  on 
the  telephone  and  tell  him  how  you  were.  He 
wanted  to  know  about  continuing  the  treat- 
ment." She  did  not  look  at  her  cousin,  and  de- 
livered the  message  in  an  offhand  manner,  but 
Marguerite  was  evidently  annoyed.  "  What  shall 
I  tell  him  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Burnham. 

"  Tell  him,"  replied  the  fair  convalescent,  "  that 


257 


he  need  not  attempt  anything  further.  He  did 
not  help  me  a  bit."  She  went  off  to  her  own 
room  with  the  princess's  letter,  and  evidently 
found  its  influence  most  tranquillizing,  for  she  re- 
appeared at  dinner-time  looking  more  like  her- 
self, Mrs.  Buruham  told  her,  than  she  had  in  a 
month. 

It  was  late  when  Mark  Heffron's  card  was 
handed  her.  He  had  gone  out  after  writing  to 
Norton,  and  had  not  come  in  again  until  after 
dinner. 

"  Why  do  you  try  to  see  him  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Burnham,  as  Marguerite  made  a  gesture  of  de- 
spair. 

"  It  is  an  engagement,"  faltered  her  cousin. 

"What  if  it  is?  I  can  tell  him  you  are  all 
tired  out,  as  you  are.  If  you  keep  on  at  this  rate, 
wearing  yourself  out  over  other  people,  you  will 
be  a  broken-down  old  woman.  You  were  a  per- 
fect wreck  this  morning."  Marguerite  glanced  at 
her  image  in  the  neighboring  glass.  "You  look 
better  now,"  pursued  her  companion,  "but  you 
will  lose  it  all  if  you  talk  and  argue  with  that 
man.  I'll  make  it  right  with  him." 

She  patted  her  gray  curls  into  place,  pulled  out 
her  sleeves,  and  left  the  backsliding  advocate  of 
the  non-existence  of  evil  to  nestle  among  the 
cushions  of  her  divan,  murmuring,  "  I  believe  I 
have  had  about  enough  of  those  Heffrons  for  one 
day." 

Mrs.  Burnham  left  nothing  unsaid  in  the  way 

17 


258 


of  apology  or  explanation,  and  Mark  received  her 
pacific  messages  with  the  utmost  magnanimity. 
Examining  his  mood,  as  he  left  the  Cynthia,  he 
was  surprised  to  find,  first,  that  he  was  not  disap- 
pointed; second,  that  he  was  not  displeased. 


XXVII 

PHILIP  MORE  had  been  away  five  months — yes, 
it  was  five  months  since  the  Peristyle  burned; 
that  was  in  January  and  this  was  June,  a  superb 
June  Sunday — one  of  those  days  in  which  Chicago 
atones  for  weeks  of  bad  weather  by  one  dazzling 
hour,  and  goes  on  piling  up  unlimited  credit  for 
weeks  of  bad  weather  to  come. 

Philip  contrasted  it  with  the  day  he  went  away. 
Then,  smoke  and  fog,  mixed  to  a  paste,  had  been 
daubed  upon  everything  ;  they  built  a  wall  over 
which  the  towers  and  domes  at  Jackson  Park 
stared  helplessly,  while  the  Ferris  Wheel  seemed 
to  bowl  along  the  horizon  in  a  murky  cloud.  Now 
what  remained  of  the  White  City  came  out,  like 
a  regained  ideal,  fairer  than  ever.  The  day  was 
in  sympathy  with  his  mood — was  he  not  going  to 
the  woman  he  loved  ?  He  was  glad  it  was  Sun- 
day ;  Aunt  Harriet  would  be  at  the  Enterprise 
and  Eloise  would  be  alone.  He  had  stopped 
down-town  to  remove  the  traces  of  travel,  but  it 
was  not  yet  ten.  How  surprised  she  would  be ! 
He  could  see  her  dark -fringed  hazel  eyes  open, 
and  could  hear  her  say,  "  Why,  Philip  !" 

Five  months  ago  he  would  not  have  ventured 


260 


to  come  thus  unannounced,  but  she  had  altered  in 
her  manner  towards  him  of  late,  writing  him  long, 
confidential  accounts  of  Aunt  Harriet  and  Carl 
and  their  doings,  confessing  that  she  felt  very 
much  alone  since  the  defection  of  her  kinsfolk. 

In  his  turn  he  had  been  encouraged  to  employ 
greater  frankness  concerning  his  own  affairs,  per- 
suaded that  his  cause  did  not  lose  thereby  ;  for 
he  had  succeeded  in  his  business,  and  had  made 
friends  with  men  and  women  both.  Eloise  might 
as  well  know  that  others  thought  well  of  him. 
He  sent  up  his  card  and  waited  impatiently  in  the 
reception-room,  walking  to  and  fro  and  glancing 
at  his  image  in  the  glass.  He  had  never  looked 
so  well,  or  weighed  so  much,  or  worn  so  becoming 
a  suit  of  clothes. 

These  are  not  puerile  considerations.  Smaller 
factors  than  a  man's  weight  or  the  fit  of  his  coat 
have  told  for  or  against  him  in  a  woman's  favor. 

After  what  seemed  an  interminable  time  the 
bell-boy  returned  with  the  undelivered  pasteboard. 

"De  do'  am  locked  ;  guess  Miss  Gordon  gone 
out,"  he  drawled.  "But  her  key  ain't  in  de  office." 

"See  if  Mrs.  Glenn  knows  anything  about  her," 
directed  Philip,  and  waited  again  while  the  boy 
scoured  the  house,  only  to  bring  back  word  that 
Miss  Gordon  was  not  to  be  found.  Mrs.  Glenn 
had  gone  off  with  Miss  Larrabee,  and  so  had  Miss 
Thompson.  The  Glenn  children  were  out  some- 
where with  somebody — no  one  could  tell  where  or 
with  whom. 


261 


Philip  bought  a  Sunday  Tribune,  and  sat  down 
with  it  in  the  rotunda.  Eleven  o'clock  came,  but 
no  Eloise.  Of  course  it  was  not  her  fault,  but 
that  did  not  lessen  his  disappointment.  If  he 
could  have  found  some  one  to  talk  with,  the  time 
would  have  passed  moi'e  quickly,  he  told  himself  ; 
but  the  hotel  was  nearly  deserted.  The  bell-boys 
sat  in  a  row  opposite  the  office-desk,  undisturbed. 
The  great  clock  over  their  heads  ticked  solemnly 
in  the  silence.  A  breeze  came  in  through  the  open 
door,  gently  rocking  the  empty  chairs  standing 
there.  Something  else  came  in  also — a  fluttering 
white  figure  which  hesitated  but  an  instant,  then 
darted  towards  him.  It  was  Millicent  Glenn,  her 
blue  eyes  shining  like  stars,  her  golden  hair  stream- 
ing back  like  a  nimbus,  her  lips  parted  in  a  smile. 

"  Mr.  More  !  Mr.  More  !"  she  cried,  and  flew 
straight  into  his  arms. 

He  strained  her  to  his  breast — the  warm,  happy, 
loving  little  creature !  There  was  something 
strangely  comforting  in  the  contact  with  her  cling- 
ing, yielding  form  and  the  clasp  of  her  arms 
around  his  neck.  He  hid  his  face  in  her  soft  curls, 
murmuring  the  tender  words  he  would  gladly  have 
given  to  another,  and  she  kissed  him  frankly  on 
cheek  and  chin,  and  told  him  he  was  "  nicer  than 
ever." 

She  asked  him  a  dozen  questions  in  a  breath. 
How  long  could  he  stay  ?  Was  it  hot  in  Cali- 
fornia? Were  there  any  little  girls  there  ?  Did 
he  like  them  as  well  as  he  did  her  ? 


262 


She  showed  him  the  golden  heart  he  gave  her, 
hanging  by  its  chain  around  her  neck.  There 
was  another  band  there — a  silken  cord,  at  which 
she  tugged  in  vain  for  several  seconds.  It  had 
something  tied  to  it  ;  she  drew  it  up  with  diffi- 
culty from  under  the  tiers  of  ruffles  which  stood 
out  like  wings  from  her  dimpled  shoulders — some- 
thing bulky  and  cumbersome.  It  came  in  sight  at 
last — a  bag  of  yellow  silk  put  together  with  long, 
awkward  stitches. 

She  opened  it  and  took  out  a  sheet  of  writing- 
paper  folded  small  to  just  fit  the  bag.  Philip 
recognized  it  with  a  smile ;  it  was  the  letter  he 
wrote  her  one  dull  day  in  Sacramento,  when  a  man 
who  had  promised  to  meet  him  did  not  come  and 
there  were  six  hours  in  which  to  do  nothing.  It 
was  brief, only  half  a  dozen  lines,  beginning  "My 
darling  little  Millicent,"  and  ending  "  Yours  faith- 
fully, Philip  More  ;"  but  Millicent  knew  them  by 
heart — she  repeated  them  to  prove  it. 

Philip  was  glad  that  he  could  produce  her  re- 
ply, in  huge  printed  capitals  wandering  over  the 
entire  page  without  much  reference  to.  one  an- 
other. Millicent  scanned  it  critically.  "I  can 
do  lots  better  now,"  she  said,  viewing  with  con- 
tempt the  immature  efforts  of  a  month  ago.  "  I 
can  write  '  Millicent  Glenn,  Lake  View  Hotel,  Chi- 
cago.'1 Want  to  see  me  ?" 

Philip  avowed  his  anxiety  to  witness  such 
a  finished  performance,  and  to  further  its  in- 
ception produced  a  tablet  from  his  pocket  and 


263 


a  small  silver  pencil.  The  latter  pleased  her 
mightily. 

"  That  isn't  much  like  a  man's  pencil,"  she  said, 
tentatively. 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  granted  Philip.  "  I  won  it  as  a 
prize  at  a  card-party." 

"  I  didn't  know  but  somebody  gave  it  to  you," 
she  pursued,  turning  it  over  with  admiring 
glances. 

"  No  one  gave  it  to  me.     Would  you  like  it  ?" 

"Oh,  I  should  like  it!"  she  exclaimed,  clasp- 
ing it  rapturously  to  her  bosom ;  "  but  I  didn't 
ask  for  it,  did  I?" 

"  No,  you  didn't  ask  for  it.  What  is  more,  I 
am  going  to  make  you  earn  it.  You  can  have  it 
for  your  own  when  you  have  written  'Millicent 
Glenn,  Lake  View  Hotel,  Chicago.'  Here,  use 
my  arm  for  a  writing-table." 

The  small  scribe  went  promptly  to  work,  bow- 
ing her  head  until  her  curls  swept  his  arm.  She 
tossed  them  back  impatiently.  "I  wish  you'd 
hold  my  hair  till  I  get  through,"  she  said,  plaint- 
ively. "  I  can't  do  a  single  thing." 

He  obeyed,  grasping  gingerly  the  handful  of 
silken  locks,  conscious  of  a  curious  thrill  as  he 
did  so.  His  coarse,  masculine  palm  had  never 
come  in  contact  with  anything  so  fine,  so  soft,  so 
full  of  life. 

"  Ouch  !"  cried  Millicent.  She  had  drawn  back 
quickly  to  inspect  her  work,  forgetting  how  she 
was  held. 


264 


"  I  am  awfully  sorry,"  he  exclaimed,  penitently. 

"  It  isn't  very  good,"  was  her  irrelevant  reply, 
mindful  only  of  her  work.  "Sometimes  I  do  bet- 
ter, when  I  can  get  both  elbows  on  the  table.  Oh, 
dear,  there's  Miss  Gordon  !"  She  slipped  to  the 
floor  and  Philip  stood  up,  brightening  visibly. 

Eloise  came  leisurely  towards  them,  holding 
out  her  hand.  "  How  do  you  do,  Philip  ?"  she 
said,  composedly.  "  This  is  quite  a  surprise." 

There  was  nothing  in  her  tone  to  indicate  it,  he 
thought,  with  some  chagrin.  This,  then,  was  the 
result  of  his  eager  anticipation — a  commonplace 
greeting  in  a  hotel  rotunda  ;  and  she  seemed  in 
no  hurry  to  take  him  where  she  could  give  her 
welcome  a  more  personal  application.  She  stood 
and  chatted  with  him  of  the  weather  and  his 
journey,  while  the  guests  of  the  hotel  came  in 
and  the  bells  began  to  ring  and  the  bell-boys  to 
rush  about,  for  the  Sunday  forenoon  rest  was  over. 
After  a  while  Aunt  Harriet  appeared,  followed  by 
her  flock.  She,  too,  greeted  him  perfunctorily, 
and  seemed  to  have  her  mind  on  something  else. 

Millicent  had  claimed  her  mother's  attention 
for  the  silver  pencil,  but  Mrs.  Glenn  put  her  aside, 
murmuring,  "Yes,  yes,  child;  there,  run  away 
now,"  and  held  out  her  hand  stiffly  to  the  trav- 
eller. 

"  Confound  it  all  !"  mused  Philip,  angrily, 
"  what  have  I  done  that  they  should  treat  me  in 
this  manner?  I  wish  I  had  stayed  where  I  was." 

In   his   turn   he    became   dignified   and   unap- 


265 


proachable,  and  by  the  time  he  was  left  alone 
with  Eloise,  for  Aunt  Harriet  went  out  soon  after 
luncheon,  their  conversation  was  as  formal  and 
stately  as  an  old-time  minuet. 

She  put  polite  questions  to  him  and  he  gave 
them  polite  answers.  Then  they  reversed  the 
figure  ;  he  questioned  and  she  answered  in  the 
same  manner.  Each  felt  innocent  and  injured, 
and  neither  would  ask  the  other,  "What  is  it?" 

Once  Philip  arose,  declaring  that  he  must  be 
interfering  with  her  siesta  ;  but  Eloise  assured 
him  that  she  had  given  up  all  her  old  Southern 
ways,  and  the  minuet  went  on,  more  stately  and 
more  dignified  and  more  cold,  until  Philip  could 
contain  himself  no  longer. 

"  This  is  a  delightful  meeting  after  an  ab- 
sence of  half  a  year!"  he  exclaimed,  with  bitter- 
ness. 

"  I  don't  know  who  is  to  blame,"  replied  Eloise, 
sensitively. 

"  Millicent  Glenn  is  the  only  one  who  seems 
glad  to  see  me,"  he*  continued,  in  a  hurt  tone. 
"  Miss  Larrabee  used  to  be  fond  of  me,  but  she 
has  gotten  bravely  over  it." 

"Aunt  Harriet  is  not  herself  to-day,"  said  Eloise, 
firmly.  "  Something  has  happened ;  I  don't  know 
what." 

"  And  I  suppose  Mrs.  Glenn  is  not  herself,"  re- 
torted Philip. 

"  She  does  act  rather  strangely." 

"  I  don't  care  how  they  act,"  he  exploded.    "  If 


206 


you  bad  shown  any  feeling,  they  might  have 
turned  their  backs  for  all  I'd  care." 

Eloise  looked  mutinous.  Love  does  not  come 
by  recrimination.  A  woman  is  not  teased  into 
being  tender. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  Eloise,"  pursued  Philip, 
"  I'm  getting  tired  of  living  on  hopes." 

"  It  was  your  own  proposition,"  she  re- 
sponded. 

"I  know  it  was.  I  thought — the  more  fool  I 
— that  my  devotion  would  soften  you  ;  but  it 
doesn't.  Then  I  went  away.  I  said  to  myself, 
'  Perhaps  she  will  miss  me  a  little — ' "  He  stopped 
and  swallowed  hard,  choked  by  emotions  of  dis- 
appointment and  self-pity. 

Eloise  made  no  reply,  and  he  began  to  be  angry 
with  himself  for  thus  yielding.  "  It's  all  right, 
of  course,"  he  said,  proudly.  "  I  am  sorry  I  have 
bothered  you  so  long,  and — " 

"  You  have  not  bothered  me,"  interrupted 
Eloise.  "  Can't  you  understand,  Philip,  that  I 
have  much  to  think  of — many  cares,  many  du- 
ties? I  can't  sit  down  and  be  sentimental.  I 
must  have  my  wits  about  me  to  meet  the  world 
and  conquer  it." 

There  was  a  pathetic  ring  in  the  girl's  voice, 
to  which  his  heart  responded  chivalrously  ;  but 
when  he  considered  what  she  said  he  hardened, 
t  The  keen  business  life  he  had  been  living  had 
j  taught  him  to  challenge  words  and  demand  their 
significance.  She  need  not  have  cares  and 


267 


duties,  she  need  not  meet  the  world  and  conquer 
it.  This  was  no  excuse. 

"  You  see,  Philip,"  she  went  on,  lightly,  "  that 
old  saying  about  'man's  love'  being  'of  his  life 
a  thing  apart'  is  beginning  to  apply  to  us  women 
as  we  come  to  have  individual  occupations  and  in- 
terests." 

Philip  remained  silent.  He  could  have  met  a 
rival  with  sword  or  pistol,  he  could  have  wooed  an 
unresponsive  mistress  longer  than  he  had  wooed 
Eloise ;  but  for  a  woman  who  looked  him  coolly  in 
the  eye  and  laughed  when  his  heart  was  breaking 
he  had  no  resources.  Grieved  beyond  measure, 
he  stood  up,  straight  and  tall  and  white,  to  say 
good-bye,  barely  touching  her  hand  as  he  did  so. 

A  wild  desire  seized  her,  as  the  door  closed 
behind  him,  to  run  after  him  and  bring  him  back. 
She  resisted  it,  but  could  not  drive  it  away.  He 
was  all  the  lover  she  had,  arid  life  without  a  lover 
is  a  dull  thing  for  a  girl  ;  unutterably  dull  her 
life  would  be  with  only  her  work  to  comfort  her, 
and  her  few  friends. 

And  Philip  had  been  so  patient  and  so  true. 
Her  heart  began  to  plead  for  him.  A  man  is 
inclined  to  dislike  the  woman  he  has  wronged  ; 
consciousness  of  wrong-doing  makes  him  surly. 
A  woman  pities  the  man  she  has  hurt,  and  be- 
comes almost  loving  in  her  remorse. 

She  told  herself  he  would  return  the  next  day, 
and  stayed  in,  all  the  long,  lovely  afternoon,  ex- 
pecting him  ;  but  Philip  did  not  come. 


268 


Day  after  day  passed  and  brought  no  sign  of 
him.  Aunt  Harriet  finally  emerged  from  her 
abstraction  sufficiently  to  inquire  if  there  was 
any  trouble,  but  returned  to  it  when  her  niece 
gave  an  evasive  reply. 

"  That  shows  how  she  is  wrapped  up  in  her 
mysticism,"  thought  Eloise.  "  But  I  could  never 
have  told  her  about  Philip — or  anything  else. 
There  is  only  one  woman  in  the  world  I  can  tell 
things  to,  anyway.  Bless  her  old  heart,  I'll  go 
there  this  minute  !"  It  was  a  wet  morning,  and 
there  was  nothing  doing  in  the  studio — no  diver- 
sion from  the  grinding  monotony  of  regret.  She 
put  on  her  mackintosh  as  if  it  had  been  armor, 
and  with  desperate  eagerness  started  for  Seventy- 
fifth  Street. 

"  Come  right  in,"  said  Mrs.  Harwood,  cheer- 
ily. "  I'll  take  your  umbrella  and  open  it  in  the 
kitchen  ;  it'll  dry  better  so.  Give  me  your  cloak, 
too.  Sit  down;  I'll  be  right  back." 

Eloise  mechanically  surrendered  the  umbrella 
and  the  cloak,  and  seated  herself  in  a  large  cush- 
ioned chair  which  had  been  covered  by  its  owner 
with  one  of  her  discarded  dresses.  Most  of  the 
chairs  in  the  room  wore  Mrs.  Harwood's  old  clothes, 
but  that  made  them  seem  so  much  the  more  hos- 
pitable and  inviting.  They  were  like  reflections 
of  herself,  standing  about,  prepared  to  do  her 
will. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  flat  which  had  not 
survived  several  reincarnations.  It  was  Eloise's 


269 


wont  to  find  entertainment,  when  Mrs.  Harwood 
was  occupied,  in  wondering  what  the  carpet  and 
curtains  used  to  be.  To-day  the  most  that  she 
demanded  of  the  place  was  its  wholesome  atmos- 
phere of  calm  and  common-sense. 

She  was  not  long  alone  ;  Mrs.  Harwood  soon 
returned  and  sank  into  the  lap  of  another  arm- 
chair as  plump  as  herself. 

"  Now  let's  hear  all  about  it,"  she  said,  taking 
up  her  knitting.  It  is  always  easier  to  tell  one's 
story  when  the  listener  looks  the  other  way. 
What  penitent  could  pour  out  his  secret  at  the 
confessional  if  the  priest  presented  his  eyes  as 
well  as  his  ear? 

Eloise  watched  the  twinkling  needles,  and  felt 
as  if  they  led  her  on.  Not  once  did  the  knitter 
look  off  her  work  until  the  story  ended  with  an 
outburst  of  self-reproach  ;  then  she  glanced  up 
sympathetically. 

"You  can't  make  two  things  fit  by rubbin'  'em 
together,"  she  began,  tersely.  "  No  more  can 
you  two  people.  I  didn't  know  but  you'd  stop 
rubbin'  after  a  while  and  get  the  consolations  of 
matrimony  along  with  its  trials.  It's  dreadful 
handy  to  have  a  man  around."  She  shifted  her 
needles  and  resumed  her  knitting. 

Eloise  laughed  and  then  she  sighed,  as  if  she 
had  no  right  to  be  amused.  "  You  make  me  feel 
a  little  less  like  a — homicide,"  she  said,  pensive- 
ly. "  I'd  begun  to  think  that  I  could  make  any 
sacrifice  to  atone  for  not  loving  Philip — " 


270 


"  And  you'd  felt  more  an'  more  so  as  time  went 
on,"  finished  the  elder  woman,  quickly.  "  You're 
a  great  deal  more  apt  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  a 
man  if  you  don't  care  as  much  for  him  as  you 
think  you  ought  to.  It's  a  sort  of  salve  to  your 
conscience,  like  giving  money  instead  of  sympa- 
thy." Mrs.  Harwood  looked  conscious,  it  seemed 
to  Eloise ;  but  Daniel  and  Philip  were  not  the 
same.  Again  her  heart  softened  towards  her 
absent  lover. 

"  I  have  thought  sometimes  I  would  write  to 
him,"  she  pursued,  "  and  try  to  be  more  gener- 
ous, more  kind." 

"  Don't  you  do  it,"  warned  her  adviser,  "  un- 
less you  can  be  kind  the  way  he  wants  you  to. 
Let  him  wrastle  it  out,  man-fashion.  Don't  keep 
a-feelin'  of  the  sore  spot  to  see  if  it  is  sore." 

"But  I  cannot  do  my  work,"  confessed  Eloise. 
"  I  am  there  with  him,  thinking  of  his  hurt." 

"  That's  a  big  mistake,  too,"  replied  her  friend. 
"If  you  try  to  live  somebody  else's  life  youUl 
miss  of  livin'  your  own." 

"  But  don't  you  think  I  ought  to  suffer  for  mak- 
ing him  miserable  ?"  asked  the  girl,  between  a 
laugh  and  a  sob. 

"  The  Lord  '11  take  care  of  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Harwood ;  "  He  set  the  thing  a-goin'.  You  don't 
gain  anything  by  trying  to  punish  yourself.  You'll 
have  to  take  the  regular  retribution  just  the  same 
— that  is,  if  you've  done  wrong.  I  don't  say  that 
you  have.  You  ought  to  know." 


271 


Counsel  like  this  is  stimulating — at  least,  in  the 
presence  of  the  counsellor.  When,  walking  along 
to  the  station,  Eloise  tried  to  repeat  the  helpful 
words  over  to  herself,  they  seemed  to  have  lost 
their  efficacy. 

How  could  Mrs.  Harwood  or  any  one  else  un- 
derstand? 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  all  along  the  street 
the  piazzas  grew  gay  again  with  bright  cushions 
and  carpets  and  with  the  light  summer  dresses  of 
those  who  had  nothing  of  graver  importance  to 
do  than  to  shield  themselves  from  bad  weather 
and  come  out  with  the  sun. 

One  tall,  blond  youth  not  unlike  Philip  stopped 
to  pin  a  red  rose  on  the  gown  of  a  girl  not  unlike 
herself. 


XXVIII 

ONLY  once  more  did  Mark  Heffron  meet  Mar- 
guerite Duvray,  and  that  was  on  the  eve  of  her 
departure  for  New  York.  He  had  an  affable  little 
note  from  Mrs.  Burnham,  telling  him  of  their  pro- 
posed absence  from  Chicago  and  repeating  Made- 
moiselle Duvray's  apologies  for  having  failed  to 
keep  her  appointment  with  him.  They  were  to 
be  at  home  to  their  friends  the  evening  of  the 
5th,  and  should  be  glad  to  see  him,  if  he  were 
not  otherwise  engaged. 

Mark  was  not  engaged  on  the  evening  of  the 
5th  ;  if  he  had  been,  the  chances  are  that  he 
would  have  broken  the  engagement,  so  curious 
was  he  to  "  see  what  she  would  do  next,"  as  he 
phrased  it. 

He  found  the  pleasant  drawing-room  filled  with 
men  and  women  who  expressed  their  regret  at  the 
coming  separation,  according  to  their  kind — the 
men  by  a  jocoseness  hinting  at  repression,  the 
women  by  open  and  emphatic  lament.  There 
were  farewell  bouquets  everywhere,  and  farewell 
gifts  in  tinted  papers — books,  trinkets,  whatever 
could  be  thought  of  in  connection  with  travel. 

The  object  of  these  attentions  received  them 


273 


graciously,  maintaining  the  level  of  appreciation 
towards  all,  but  vouchsafing  subtle,  personal  ac- 
knowledgments to  each  one.  Mark  watched  her 
for  some  time  at  a  distance,  and  found  it  impos- 
sible to  withhold  his  admiration.  "  It  would  be 
a  pity  to  limit  her,"  he  decided.  "She  ought  to 
have  both  hemispheres  to  operate  in,  and  perhaps 
the  planet  Mars  ;  I'll  bet  my  bottom  dollar  she 
could  cover  it." 

He  took  this  tolerant  mood  with  him  when  he 
.addressed  her,  and  she  responded  with  the  frank 
cordiality  which  signalized  her  welcome  when  he 
first  came  to  Chicago. 

"  But  you  have  not  told  me  why  you  wished 
to  see  me,"  he  said,  when  she  had  blamed  a  head- 
ache for  her  non-appearance  the  evening  he  called, 
and  he  had  assured  her  that  his  sympathy  for  her 
outweighed  his  disappointment. 

"I  wanted  to  continue  our  conversation  about 
Dr.  Symonds,"  she  answered  carelessly,  "  but  now 
that  he  is  gone — " 

"Dead  ?" ejaculated  Mark, in  tones  which  caused 
his  nearest  neighbor,  a  thin,  nervous  woman,  to 
turn  upon  him  a  look  of  indignant  remonstrance. 

"  Why,  no,  I  suppose  not,"  she  replied,  lower- 
ing her  voice  as  a  signal  for  him  to  lower  his,  "  but 
he  has  disappeared.  Mr.  Norton  had  a  note  from 
him,  saying  that  he  felt  he  was  not  doing  his  best 
work  here  and  should  go  elsewhere  for  a  while. 
He  gave  no  address,  and  nothing  has  been  heard 
from  him  since.  I  thought  you  knew." 

18 


274 


"  Not  at  all,"  Mark  responded,  earnestly.  "  I 
haven't  even  heard  his  name  for  three  days.  It 
is  strange." 

"Very  strange,"  said  Marguerite.  "Ah,  good- 
evening,  Herr  Meinzer.  I  thought  you  would  not 
let  me  go  without  a  word." 

Herr  Meinzer  murmured  several  words  over  the 
hand  she  gave  him,  but  only  himself  knew  what 
they  were.  His  glances  were  more  intelligible  ; 
his  pale  blue  eyes  gleamed  at  her  through  his 
spectacles  like  street-lamps  through  a  fog. 

"  You  remember  Herr  Meinzer,  I  am  sure,  Mr. 
Heffron,"  protested  Marguerite. 

Mark  acknowledged  the  acquaintance  and  re- 
tired to  the  background  of  his  own  thoughts. 
"  Symonds  go  down  and  Meinzer  come  up  !  'All 
is  Spirit  and  All  is  Good,' "  he  reflected.  "  Great 
is  philosophy  !  I  suppose  he  '  gives  her  the  right 
thought.'  How  she  would  like  to  have  me  go 
away  !" 

But  Marguerite  showed  no  sign  of  wishing  to 
be  rid  of  him.     She  made  the  conversation  trian- 
gular as  far  as  she  could,  and  divided  her  smiles 
equally  between  the  two  men. 
|      "I  wonder  if  she  ever  has  any  preferences  or 
.'predilections,"  mused  Mark,  "and  what  she  does 
I  with  them  when  she  has  them." 

Herr  Meinzer  was  too  happy  for  reflections  ; 
those  would  come  later,  when  he  should  smoke  his 
long  pipe  and  call  up  the  image  of  the  gracious 
fraulein.  One  cannot  enjoy  to  the  utmost  and 


275 


reflect  upon  it  ;  that  is  to  hinder  joy.  If  the 
dark  man  Heffron  chose  to  be  moody  because  he 
had  not  the  beautiful  lady  to  himself,  that  was 
not  the  fault  of  Herr  Meinzer.  Alas,  there  were 
more  than  the  dark  man  Heffron  to  contend  for 
the  honor  of  a  chat  with  her — the  Russian  prince 
and  the  Italian  and  some  strange  youths.  The 
joyful  moment  was  over.  "  A  happy  voyage, 
madame,  Auf  Wiedersehen  /" 

"  A  happy  voyage,"  echoed  Mark,  holding  out 
his  hand.  Was  there  a  reproach  in  his  eyes  as 
they  encountered  hers?  "Was  there  a  regret  in 
hers  ? 

"  We  shall  meet  in  October,"  she  said,  gayly, 
and  he  answered,  "  If  the  gods  are  kind." 

It  seemed  to  him,  as  he  made  his  way  out  of 
the  room,  that  there  were  a  number  of  new  peo- 
ple present,  and  he  did  not  see  the  Ayers  or  the 
Rosses  or  the  Merriams ;  where  were  they  all  ? 
Mrs.  Burnham  called  out  to  him,  "  What !  going 
so  eai'ly  ?"  He  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  her 
and  wish  her  a  pleasant  journey. 

"  It  is  always  pleasant  for  me  to  travel  with 
my  cousin,"  she  answered.  "  You  know  I  am  de- 
voted to  her." 

"  She  is  most  fortunate,"  said  Mark,  with  un- 
usual gallantry. 

"  How  charming  of  you  to  say  so  !"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  Of  course  I  am  the  fortunate  one,  but 
I  like  to  think  she  depends  upon  me  somewhat." 

"She  will  need  you  more  than  ever  now  that 


276 


she  has  lost  her  'ghostly  comforter,' "said  Mark, 
wickedly. 

Mrs.  Burnhara  gave  him  a  seai'dring  look. 
How  much  did  he  know  about  the  matter? 

"Although  she  seems  to  take  the  loss  very 
philosophically,"  he  concluded. 

"  She  always  thinks  everything  is  for  the  best," 
responded  Mrs.  Burnham,  quickly.  "That  is  her 
creed.  I  fancy  you  yourself  are  not  easily  dis- 
turbed," she  added,  returning  the  thrust. 

"  No,  I  am  not,"  he  answered.  It  was  the  trait 
in  himself  that  he  most  approved  and  cultivated  ; 
but  our  own  virtues  are  less  agreeable  just  as  our 
own  faults  are  more  obnoxious  when  we  find  them 
in  some  one  else. 

"  If  I  were  easily  disturbed,"  he  went  on, flippant- 
ly, "just  think  what  a  state  I  should  be  in  now  ! 
That  young  Italian  over  there  is  actually  wiping 
his  eyes.  I  must  make  my  escape  before  the  con- 
tagion reaches  me  !"  He  bowed  low  with  mock 
emotion,  and  left  her  looking  after  him. 

"  He  either  cares  more  than  he'll  confess,"  she 
decided,  "  or  else  he's  glad  to  get  out  of  the  whole 
thing." 

As  an  actual  fact,  both  conjectures  were  cor- 
rect. Just  what  Mark  expected  to  find  in  Mar- 
guerite and  why  he  was  disappointed  he  could 
not  have  told  ;  or  why,  with  his  soreness  of  heart, 
he  felt  such  iv  sense  of  freedom  when  he  went 
from  the  crowded  drawing-room  at  the  Cynthia 
into  the  open  air.  Equally  paradoxical  appeared 


277 


to  him  his  indignation  at  the  ease  with  which  she 
dismissed  Dr.  Symonds  from  her  thoughts;  had 
he  not  tried  to  bring  about  that  very  result  ? 

"  Queer  that  I  hadn't  even  heard  his  name  !" 
he  said  to  himself. 

He  heard  it  often  enough  the  next  morning; 
indeed,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  heard  little  else. 

Julia  Ross  was  on  the  car  when  he  went  down- 
town. She  said  Maud  and  Mary  were  quite  pros- 
trated. She  herself  did  not  believe  in  depending 
entirely  upon  one  teacher.  Of  course  Dr.  Sy- 
monds was  a  remarkable  man,  but  she  had  not 
found  much  in  his  system  which  was  new  to  her. 
She  had  hoped  to  have  Haridass  Goculdass  return 
for  another  course  of  lectures,  but  had  not  been 
able  to  arrange  it.  And  now  that  people  were 
beginning  to  go  away  for  the  summer,  she  should 
have  to  wait  until  fall. 

"Do  you  think  Dr.  Symonds  will  return?"  in- 
quired Mark. 

"He  may  and  he  may  not,"  replied  Julia, 
guardedly.  "  We  are  never  left  alone  for  long. 
There  will  be  some  one — there  always  is." 

"  That  is  a  comfortable  way  of  looking  at  it," 
vouchsafed  Mark. 

"It  is  the  only  way,"  was  the  determined 
reply. 

Carl  Dering,  whom  Mark  overtook  on  State 
Street,  was  less  inclined  to  philosophize.  "You 
see,"  he  said,  confidentially,  as  he  fell  into  step, 
"  it  has  such  a  bad  effect  on  the  people.  I  went 


278 


out  to  the  Lake  View  yesterday  to  see  my  aunt, 
Miss  Larrabee.  My  cousin  sent  for  me.  My  poor 
old  aunt  lias  hardly  slept  since  Syraonds  went 
away." 

"  Could  you  do  nothing  for  her  ?"  inquired 
Mark.  "  What  has  become  of  your  mental  in- 
fluence?" 

"  I  tried  it,"  said  the  young  fellow,  honestly, 
"  but  she  was  too  much  for  me.  I'd  quiet  her  for 
a  while,  and  then  she'd  start  right  up  again.  She 
will  have  it  that  some  enemy  has  driven  him 
away ;  she  says  she  can  feel  that  he  is  suffering." 

Mark  looked  annoyed.  "  How  do  you  explain 
Symonds's  behavior?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  explain  it,"  returned  Carl.  "He  was 
doing  well,  I  believe.  Perhaps  some  patient  sent 
for  him.  He  never  told  his  business." 

"  He  may  return,"  Mark  suggested. 

Carl  shook  his  head.  "  He  will  have  to  come 
soon  if  he  is  going  to  help  Miss  Larrabee,"  he 
said,  with  a  sigh. 

Mark  walked  on  alone,  trying  to  convince  him- 
self that  it  was  none  of  his  affair.  He  went  over 
in  his  mind  the  interview  with  Symonds  at  the  of- 
fice. "  Symonds  certainly  thought  he  had  the 
better  of  me  in  that  argument,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "  It  is  all  a  put-up  scheme  to  increase  his 
popularity.  He'll  descend  unexpectedly,  in  a 
blaze  of  glory,  some  day,  and  tell  his  disciples 
that  he  has  been  upon  a  mountain  somewhere 
getting  spiritualized." 


279 


But,  despite  his  cynicism,  Mark  felt  uneasy,  and 
returned  early  to  his  hotel. 

"  Ben  a  gentleman  here  to  see  you,  sir,"  said 
the  deferential  clerk.  "  Ben  here  twice.  There 
he  is  now,  sir." 

It  was  young  Norton,  who  advanced  without  a 
smile,  and  looking  pale  and  worried. 

"  What's  up  ?"  asked  Mark. 

"  I'll  tell  you  presently,"  was  the  curt  reply. 

"  Anything  the  matter  in  New  York  ?" 

"  No." 

"  What  the  deuce  is  it  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  when  we  get  to  your  room." 

They  filed  solemnly  down  the  hall,  and  Mark 
flung  open  the  door.  "Have  a  cigar?"  he  in- 
quired, laconically,  as  Joey  seated  himself  in  the 
nearest  chair. 

"  No,  thanks  ;  I  won't  smoke.  Mark,  what 
under  the  sun  did  you  kick  up  such  a  rumpus 
for?" 

"  What  rumpus?"  growled  Mark,  resenting  the 
tone  as  he  had  resented  the  manner,  since  he 
landed,  of  the  man  who  would  never  be  anything 
but  a  youngster  to  him. 

"  With  Uncle  Eli,"  replied  Norton. 

"Now  look  here,  Joe  Norton,"  began  Mark, 
firing  up,  "  please  remember  at  whose  request  I 
'  kicked  up  a  rumpus,'  as  you  call  it.  You  wrote 
to  me  and  begged  me  to  interfere,  and  I  did 
so." 

"  But,  by  Jove,  you  might  have  left  him  a  leg 


280 


to  stand  on,"  returned  Joey,  impetuously.  "  Yon 
didn't  spare  him  an  atom  of  faith  in  himself  or  in 
any  one  else  ;  and  now  that  What's-his-name  that 
he  thought  so  much  of  has  cleared  out  the  old 
man  is  sick  abed.  He's  really  in  a  bad  way, 
Mark." 

"  You  talk  as  if  I'd  set  deliberately  to  work  to 
finish  him,  instead  of  trying  to  save  him  from 
making  a  pauper  of  himself." 

"But  he  says  he  gave  you  to  understand  that 
he  was  only  considering  the  investment." 

"  Gave  me  to  understand  nothing  !" 

"  And,  really,  I'd  give  fifty  thousand,  if  I  had 
it,  to  put  him  back  where  he  was  when  I  saw  him 
last." 

Mark  made  no  reply. 

"He  says  this  man  is  the  only  one  who  has 
understood  him,"  pursued  Joey,  "except  Made- 
moiselle Duvray,  and  she  has  avoided  him  latehr. 
He  says  you  haven't  been  near  him  for  weeks." 

"  Good  thing,"  put  in  Mark,  grimly,  "  if  my  in- 
fluence is  so  bad." 

"  Well,  really,  Mark,"  persisted  Norton, who  was 
still  inclined  to  be  disagreeable,  "  you  don't  realize 
how  you  carry  people  along  with  you.  If  I  wanted 
to  keep  a  conviction  I  wouldn't  mention  it  before 
you.  I  used  to  envy  you  the  power  you  have  over 
people,  but  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I  don't 
want  it." 

"  Thanks,  awfully,"  returned  Mark,  cut  to  the 
quick  by  these  home-thrusts.  "  Anything  more  ?" 


281 


"  No,  I  don't  think  there  is,"  replied  Joey,  with 
a  faint  smile. 

"  I  hope  you  feel  relieved." 

"  I  do." 

"Perhaps  you'll  have  a  smoke  now?" 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  will,"  and  he  took  to  his 
solace  as  a  fretful  baby  takes  to  its  bottle  after  a 
cry. 

They  talked  of  business,  and  lamented  the  exist- 
ing condition  of  affairs,  as  every  one  in  the  com- 
mercial world  was  lamenting  it  at  that  time — 
discussed  the  railway  troubles  and  computed  the 
probabilities  of  a  general  strike,  hoping  their 
freight  would  get  in  from  the  East  before  there 
was  a  tie-up.  The  angry  current  which  had  surged 
between  them  seemed  to  have  iced  over  with  an 
enduring  peace.  Joey  began  to  test  it  to  see  if  it 
would  bear  his  weight. 

"  If  it  hadn't  been  that  business  was  so  dull  I 
couldn't  have  come  on,"  he  said,  amiably.  "Uncle 
Eli's  housekeeper  telegraphed  me  there  was  trou- 
ble. You  know  I  am  his  only  relative,  as  he  is 
mine.  I'm  awfully  fond  of  the  old  fellow,  and 
I'd  do  anything  for  him." 

Mark  made  no  reply  by  word,  look,  or  gesture, 
and  Joey  skated  on.  "  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do 
with  him,"  he  said,  anxiously.  "  Is  there  anything 
you  can  suggest?" 

At  this  the  ice  gave  way.  "  Not  much  !"  ex- 
claimed Mark,  with  emphasis.  "  I'm  through  sug- 
gesting." 


282 


Joey  floundered  out  as  best  he  could.  There  was 
no  need  of  getting  into  a  huff — he  was  sure  he 
meant  no  offence — he  hoped  before  they  met  again 
that  Mark  would  have  forgiven  him  if  he  had  said 
too  much.  He  stood  up  to  go. 

"  There's  nothing  to  forgive,"  said  Mark,  blunt- 
ly. "  If  that's  the  way  you  feel,  I'm  glad  to  know 
it.  But  don't  ask  me  again  to  give  advice;  I'll  do 
anything  but  that." 

"  I  did  want  to  ask  you — "  began  Joey,  and 
stopped. 

"What  is  it?     Go  ahead  !" 

"  I'd  like  to  change  places  with  you  until  Uncle 
Eli  is  better." 

"  Thunder  and  guns,  yes  !"  exploded  Mark. 
"Nothing  would  please  me  better  than  to  get  out 
of  this  confounded  hole  !" 

"  I'll  speak  to  the  firm  about  it.  You're  awfully 
kind." 

"No  kindness;  it  suits  me  as  well  as  it  does 
you." 

So,  after  all,  they  shook  hands  and  parted  friends. 


XXIX 

MARK  had  plenty  to  think  of  besides  his  talk 
with  Joey  in  the  days  that  followed.  The  "  sym- 
pathetic strike  "  had  become  a  certainty,  and  busi- 
ness was  at  a  standstill.  The  freight  expected 
from  the  East  might  be  stopped  outside  the  city. 
He  haunted  the  telegraph  -  offices  in  company 
with  a  number  of  other  business  men,  like  him 
sending  and  receiving  messages  all  day  long. 
Uncle  Oliver  Ross  was  among  them. 

"  It  does  seem  as  if  the  devil  was  on  top  !"  ex- 
claimed the  old  man,  cheerfully.  "  I  never  saw 
the  beat." 

He  mopped  his  face  energetically,  reducing  the 
general  griminess  to  a  few  well-defined  smirches. 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Mark,  producing  his 
handkerchief  and  plying  it  vigorously. 

"  Much  obliged,"  said  Uncle  Oliver.  "  There, 
I  guess  that  '11  do ;  a  little  dirt,  more  or  less,  don't 
count." 

"So  you  Chicagoans  always  say,"  returned 
Mark,  good-humoredly.  "I  believe  you  enjoy  a 
muss.  I  never  saw  anything  like  the  way  you 
take  this  strike." 

"  We  always  did  kinder  thrive  on  excitement," 


284 


said  Uncle  Oliver,  complacently,  "and  we  ain't 
afraid  of  emergencies.  Brought  up  on  emergen- 
cies, you  know  ;  they  come  natural.  If  those 
South-siders  have  to  ride  in  town  by  the  cable  or 
on  a  tug-boat,  it  will  only  get  their  blood  up  ;  it 
makes  'em  feel  good  to  be  overcomin'  circum- 
stances. Besides,  there  ain't  any  business  ;  they 
might  as  well  spend  their  time  that  way  as  any 
other." 

"  That's  all  right  for  now,"  returned  Mark,  sig- 
nificantly; "but  you  wait  until  property  is  de- 
stroyed and  acts  of  violence  are  committed. 
These  strikers  aren't  in  it  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing." 

"Oh,  we'll  take  care  of  'em,  we'll  take  care  of 
'em  !"  cried  the  old  man,  gayly. 

He  left  the  office  and  started  off  down  the 
street,  then  came  back  suddenly.  "Did  you 
know  Nellie  Heffron  had  left  town?"  he  asked. 

"I  thought  she  went  some  time  ago,"  replied 
Mark,  indifferently. 

"  No ;  she  stayed  over,  she  was  doing  so  well — 
pockets  full,  big  dinners,  presents  ;"  with  a  com- 
prehensive sweep  of  his  hand  Uncle  Oliver  in- 
cluded whatever  other  gains  he  had  not  time  to 
enumerate. 

"You're  the  man  who  wanted  me  to  stop  her 
before  she  began,"  laughed  Mark. 

"  I  don't  say  now  that  I  approve  of  it,"  re- 
turned Uncle  Oliver,  quickly.  "  But  I  believe 
she  means  all  right." 


285 


"  Is  she  coming  back  another  year  ?" 

"  That  depends.  She's  afraid  the  bicycle  craze  '11 
knock  her  business  higher  'n  a  kite.  When  it 
comes  to  bicycles  and  bloomers,  I  tell  you  what, 
I'd  rather  have  Nellie  Heffron  !"  He  started 
again,  and  again  returned.  "I  suppose  you've 
heard  about  that  feller  leavin' — that  preacher  at 
the  Enterprise  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Dr.  Symonds  ?"  returned  Mark,  shortly. 
"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  think." 

"  Seems  strange  ;  but  then  you  never  can  tell 
what  a  feller  like  that  will  do." 

Mark  made  no  reply. 

"  Our  girls  are  all  broke  up  over  it.  I  declare, 
if  I'd  known  where  he  was  I'd  ha'  gone  to  him, 
there,  one  spell,  and  brought  him  back." 

Mark  smiled.  "  I  expect  to  hear  next  that  you 
are  entertaining  Haridass  Goculdass,"  he  said,  sa- 
tirically. 

"No,  sir!"  cried  Uncle  Oliver,  straightening 
himself.  "I  draw  the  line  at  that  Hindoo." 

He  marched  off  without  another  word,  and  this 
time  he  did  not  return. 

Mark  felt  annoyed,  he  could  not  tell  why,  and 
spoiled  two  despatches  before  he  wrote  one  to 
suit  him. 

As  he  had  prophesied,  things  grew  from  bad 
to  worse.  Day  by  day  one  body  of  workmen  af- 
ter another  "went  out."  All  over  the  city  there 


286 


was  an  ominous  silence,  except  where  the  cable 
cars  were  running.  The  platforms  of  the  Illinois 
Central  stood  bare  and  deserted  and  the  tracks 
lengthened  out,  shining  in  the  sun,  unoccupied, 
save  where  a  shrieking  locomotive  darted  up 
and  down  carrying  news,  or  drew  with  deliber- 
ate purpose  cars  filled  with  gray -coated  police- 
men. 

Ominous  reports  came  from  the  suburban  towns, 
where  anarchy  was  gathering  to  a  head.  Idleness 
and  discontent  had  given  rise  to  desperate  efforts 
to  win  or  lose  all.  The  women  raged  like  Furies. 
The  very  babes  were  taught  to  creep  under  the 
cars  and  apply  the  incendiary  torch. 

"  What  do  you  think  now  ?"  asked  Mark,  the 
next  time  he  met  Uncle  Oliver.  The  old  man 
hung  his  head.  "It's  too  bad,"  he  murmured — 
"too  bad.  I'm  sorry  for  the  rascals.  They've 
got  hold  of  the  blade  instead  of  the  handle,  and 
only  cut  themselves.  I'm  sorry." 

"  Sorry  for  the  hounds  ?"  cried  Mark.  "  I'm 
sui'prised.  Come  along  with  me  and  see  the  sol- 
diers ;  that's  where  your  sympathies  ought  to 
be." 

"I'd  just  as  lief  go  and  seethe  soldiers,"  re- 
plied Uncle  Oliver,  "but  I  wish  there  hadn't 
been  any  need  of  their  comin'.  It's  too  bad  !" 

They  strolled  slowly  along  Wabash  Avenue  tow- 
ards Van  Buren  Street.  "Mark,"  said  his  com- 
panion, "you  never  was  a  working-man.  You 
went  to  college  and  then  into  business  ;  you 


287 


didn't  have  to  do  day's  work  for  day's  wages. 
I  did.  I  know  how  working-men  feel,  and — I'm 
sorry,  I'm  sorry." 

Mark  made  no  reply.  The  compassionate  words 
of  the  old  man  were  to  him  the  expression  of  a 
sentimental  tendency  increased  by  age.  To  an- 
swer them  according  to  their  substance  would  be 
to  employ  an  unwarrantable  harshness.  For  the 
sake  of  their  kindly  spirit  it  was  better  to  let 
them  pass  unheeded. 

As  the  two  pedestrians  turned  into  Van  Buren 
Street  they  found  their  way  obstructed  by  a 
dense  crowd  of  silent,  sullen  men,  who  stood 
and  stared  at  the  white  tents  before  them,  at- 
tempting neither  to  advance  nor  to  retreat.  The 
open  space  along  the  shore  of  the  lake,  hardly 
to  be  dignified  by  the  name  of  park,  was  appro- 
priated entire  by  the  encampment.  At  one  end 
the  horses  were  corralled.  Cannon  pointed  up 
every  street,  and  a  sentinel  stalked  up  and  down 
keeping  back  the  curious  and  defiant. 

"Hullo!  there's  a  woman  trying  to  get  through," 
exclaimed  Uncle  Oliver.  "They've  hauled  her 
back,  but  she  ain't  reconciled,  not  by  a  long  chalk !" 
Sure  enough,  on  the  edge  of  the  parade-ground, 
gesticulating  earnestly  with  the  umbrella  which 
she  carried,  stood  a  woman,  evidently  trying  to 
persuade  the  sentinel  to  let  her  through  the  lines. 
Mark  took  note  of  the  ample,  motherly  figure  and 
benignant  face. 

"I   know   that    woman,"   he    said,    positively. 


288 


"Perhaps  I  bad  better  go  and  see  what  the 
trouble  is." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  agreed  his  companion  ;  "  go  ahead  ! 
I  must  get  back.  It's  most  noon.  Come  around 
when  you  can  ;"  and  he  dove  through  the  crowd. 

Mark  advanced  towards  the  disputants. 
"  What's  the  matter,  Mrs.  Harwood  ?"  he  called 
out,  encouragingly. 

Mrs.  Harwood  turned  and  held  out  both  hands, 
burdened  with  the  umbrella  and  several  brown- 
paper  parcels.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Heffron,  you  always 
come  at  the  right  time!"  she  cried.  "Do  tell 
this  man  I  ain't  carryin'  powder  or  information, 
and  all  I  want  is  to  ketch  that  boat  and  get  home 
in  time  for  dinner.  I'll  be  left  as  sure  as  the 
world !"  She  glanced  despairingly  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  dock,  where  the  Pilot  Boy  was  puff- 
ing and  screaming  preparatory  to  being  off. 

"  'Tisn't  that  I  think  you're  in  league  with  the 
strikers,  madam,"  replied  the  soldier,  patiently, 
"but  our  orders  are  strict.  You  can't  expect  us 
to  relax  our  discipline." 

"  Then  why  can't  you  give  me  an  escort  and 
go  the  whole  figure,"  demanded  the  intruder, 
"if  it's  discipline  you  want?  That  boat's  going 
to  get  off,  as  true  as  you  live !" 

Mark  glanced  back  at  the  crowd,  scanning  it 
closely;  then  he  beckoned.  A  newsboy  ran  for- 
ward. "  Tribune!  Herald!"  he  called — "all  about 
the  strike  !" 

"Give  me   a    Tribune"  answered  Mark,  and 


289 


while  the  boy  was  making  change  added,  in  an 
aside,  "Do  you  see  that  boat  —  the  one  that  is 
backing-down  there  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  the  Pilot  Boy  ;  runs  to  Sev- 
enty-fifth Street." 

"  Stop  her,  and  I'll  give  you  a  quarter." 

The  urchin  was  off  like  a  dart.  Between  the 
very  legs  of  the  soldiers  he  slid  nimbly  while 
shouts  arose — "  Come  back  !  I'll  fire  !"  But  the 
gamin  did  not  come  back  and  the  soldiers  did 
not  fire,  and  Mark  led  his  companion  leisurely 
around  the  encampment  to  the  pier. 

"I'm  for  law  and  order  as  much  as  any  one," 
said  Mrs.  Harwood,  as  he  arranged  her  among 
her  bundles  on  the  shady  side  of  the  boat,  "  but 
the  idea  that  I'd  got  to  get  left  just  to  give  them 
practice  in  military  discipline  !  Why  didn't  he 
send  an  escort  with  me,  that's  what  I'd  like  to 
know !  You  going,  too  ?"  For  Mark  had  seated 
himself  beside  her. 

"  If  you  don't  object,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile. 

"  Of  coui'se  I'd  like  it,"  she  exclaimed,  "  if  you 
can  spare  the  time." 

"  At  present  there  seems  to  be  more  time  than 
anything  else,"  he  answered,  dryly.  "  Besides,  I 
think  the  change  will  do  me  good." 

The  Pilot  Boy  reeled  tipsily  out  of  the  slip 
and  headed  for  deep  water,  where  it  pitched  and 
tossed  as  if  in  the  midst  of  heavy  seas,  although 
the  lake  was  like  a  mill-pond. 

"  Do  you  suppose  the  boat  is  safe  ?"  inquired 


290 


Mrs.  Harwood,  not  timorously,  but  as  one  inquires 
for  information. 

"I  don't  suppose  it  is,"  be  replied,  carelessly, 
"  but  notbing  is  safe  nowadays  ;  and  you  couldn't 
very  well  walk." 

"No,  I  couldn't,  tbat's  a  fact,"  sbe  returned, 
comfortably.  "  It's  real  pleasant  going  tbis  way. 
The  houses  on  the  shore  look  like  the  pictures  in 
the  old  geography." 

"Only  Chicago  never  would  stand  still  long 
enough  to  have  her  picture  taken,"  he  suggested. 

"Ain't  she  just  like  an  uneasy  young  one!" 
cried  Mrs.  Harwood. 

"But  you  like  the  place?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  and  I  vowed  and  declared  I'd  never 
live  in  it ;  but  if  you  vow  and  declare  you'll  never 
do  a  thing  you're  sure  to  do  it  before  you  die. 
There's  more  of  the  young  one's  performances," 
as  they  passed  the  pathetic  ruins  of  the  Fair  and 
the  gaunt  black  skeleton  of  the  Spectatorium. 
"No  old,  grown-up  city  would  ever  have  started 
to  act  out  such  a  fairy  story.  You  ain't  going 
back  ;  no,  sir,  you've  come  thus  far,  and  you've 
got  to  go  home  to  dinner  with  me.  I  won't  hear 
two  ways  about  it." 

Mark  made  a  slight  show  of  resistance  and 
yielded,  only  too  willingly.  "Dan'l"  had  gone 
up  to  the  farm,  where  he  appeared  to  spend  most 
of  his  time,  and  there  was  no  one  in  the  flat.  Mrs. 
Harwood  bustled  about,  opening  the  doors  and 
windows  which  she  had  frugally  closed  before 


291 


setting  out  for  town.  "You  make  yourself  at 
home,  and  I'll  have  dinner  on  the  table  in  half  a 
minute,"  she  promised. 

Left  alone,  Mark  surveyed  his  surroundings 
with  friendly  interest.  "  Talk  about  being  taken 
into  the  bosom  of  the  family  !"  he  mused,  rocking 
softly  to  and  fro.  "Most  families  haven't  any; 
but  there's  no  doubt  about  this.  Why  don't  other 
people  live  into  their  belongings,  and  let  you  have 
the  benefit  of  it  ?  There's  flesh  and  blood  in  that 
sofa-cushion.  What  a  thing  it  is  to  be  a  woman  ! 
I  wish  Mrs.  Harwood  had  a  daughter.  I'd  marry 
her  and  go  to  housekeeping  to-morrow.  What 
is  it,  anyway — Kansas,  or  W.  C.  T.  II.,  or  Beau 
Lieu?  I  wonder  if  St.  Ursula  and  the  Eleven 
Thousand  Virgins  are  still  abroad  in  the  world 
and  unattached  ;  I'll  ask  her." 

He  did  so,  when  he  had  eaten  and  praised  the 
beefsteak,  fried  potatoes,  and  johnny-cake  with 
which  she  had  heaped  his  plate. 

"  Susan — Susan — what  was  her  name  ?  Susan 
Gray  ought  to  know  how  to  make  johnny-cake. 
I  wonder  if  Susan  would  have  me  ?" 

"  She's  married,"  replied  his  hostess.  "  Married 
a  college  pi*ofessor  with  four  children.  He  was 
at  Beau  Lieu  last  summer  lecturing  on  biology. 
But  any  woman  with  brains  can  make  johnny- 
cake.  Are  you  through  ?  We  may  as  well  go 
into  the  other  room.  I'll  let  the  table  stand."  She 
rose  as  she  spoke. 

"Perhaps  they  can,  but  they 'won't,"  returned 


292 


Mark,  following  her;  his  mind  was  still  on  john- 
ny-cake— "  and  they  wouldn't  do  their  sewing  up 
in  tidy  bundles  like  that ;"  he  pointed  to  her 
"mending,"  lying,  neatly  folded,  on  the  table. 
"  My  mother  used  to  do  her  work  up  like  that," 
he  added,  wistfully.  "  I  was  only  nine  years  old 
when  she  died,  but  I  remember  distinctly  her — 
I  suppose  they  would  call  it  femininity,  the  qual- 
ity they're  trying  so  hard  to  get  rid  of  nowadays." 
A  hard  tone  had  come  into  his  voice. 

"  They  can't  get  rid  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Harwood, 
quickly,  "  and  I  don't  believe  they  want  to." 

"Perhaps  not,"  returned  Mark,  abstractedly. 
He  had  taken  a  large  photograph  from  the  table 
and  was  looking  at  it  critically. 

"Those  are  the  scholars  at  Beau  Lieu  last  sum- 
mer," explained  his  hostess.  "  Do  you  recognize 
any  of  them?" 

"  I  see  the  Reverend  Billings,"  replied  Mark, 
with  a  smile,  "  and,  upon  my  word,  his  wife  is 
with  him!  How  did  that  happen?" 

"  She's  been  going  out  more  the  past  two  years," 
said  Mrs.  Harwood,  drawing  her  chair  up  beside 
his.  "  There's  Susan  Gray  that  was,  Mrs.  Tinker 
that  is.  That's  her  husband  with  the  bushy  side- 
whiskers,  and  those  are  the  four  children  ;  nice 
children,  too.  Susan  makes  a  first-rate  mother. 
There's  Miss  Gordon ;  I  suppose  you  recognize 
her.  It's  a  good  likeness." 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  agreed  Mark.  "  She's  a  fine-look- 
ing girl." 


293 


"  She  had  it  taken  to  please  the  Glenn  children 
— they're  with  her.  She  doesn't  think  much  of 
that  sort  of  thing  herself.  Have  you  found  me 
yet?  There  I  am,  over  there,  and  Dan'l's  just 
behind  me.  Oh,  I  want  to  ask  you  while  I  think 
of  it  if  you've  read  this  book."  She  caught  up  a 
volume,  into  which  she  had  folded  a  piece  of 
newspaper  to  keep  her  place,  and  laid  it  on  his 
knee. 

" '  The  Ascent  of  Man,' "  read  Mark.  "  H— m  ! 
who  set  you  at  work  on  this  ?" 

"  We  had  a  list  of  books  given  us  to  look  over 
before  we  go  to  Beau  Lieu  this  summer,"  she  re- 
plied, "  and  that's  one  of  'em.  The  Reading  Cir- 
cle are  on  Evolution  this  year,  and  seems  as  if  I 
couldn't  wait  till  I  get  there.  I'm  just  crazy  to 
talk  it  over  with  some  one." 

"  Then  you  haven't  tried  Dan'l  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  all  monkeys  to  Dan'l,"  she  answered. 
"  I  undertook  to  explain  it  to  him,  but  I  couldn't 
make  him  let  go  his  grip  on  old-fashioned  ideas. 
Perhaps  its  just  as  well ;  he  might  have  dropped 
into  —  Nothing,  between  lettin'  go  and  catchin' 
hold  again." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  Evolution  detracts  from 
the  dignity  of  the  Divine  Purpose?"  pursued 
Mark,  leading  her  on. 

"  Detract !  My,  it's  the  biggest  thing  !  Seems 
as  if  I'd — smother — sometimes,  I'm  so  full,  when 
I  think  of  it." 

"  How  about  the  Bible  ?"  he  questioned. 


294 


"  Tho  Bible's  full  of  it !"  she  cried.  "  Did  some 
one  come  up  the  walk?  Yes,  there's  the  bell! 
Now  you  sit  right  where  you  are.  I  ain't  half 
through.  There  are  some  questions  I  want  to  ask 

you." 

She  was  absent  several  minutes,  and  when  she 
returned  she  was  followed  by  a  tall  young  lady 
whom  Mark  did  not  at  first  recognize.  As  she 
emerged  from  the  dim  hall  and  came  straight 
towards  him  he  saw  that  it  was  Eloise  Gordon. 


XXX 

THE  manner  in  which  Eloise  Gordon  approached 
Mark  Heffron  was  that  of  one  who  has  a  disagree- 
able duty  to  perform  and  would  have  it  over  as 
soon  as  possible. 

"  Mrs.  Harvvood  told  me  you  were  here,"  she 
said,  briefly,  "  and  I  made  up  my  mind  to  ask 
your  assistance.  My  aunt  is  in  a  critical  condi- 
tion from  lack  of  sleep.  She  will  not  take  medi- 
cine or  employ  a  physician.  Will  you  hypnotize 
her  and  put  her  to  sleep  ?" 

Only  twice  in  his  life  had  Mark  Heffron  been 
thoroughly  routed  by  surprise :  the  first  time  was 
when  he  saw  Joe  Norton  in  the  prize-ring  ;  this 
was  the  second.  He  found  himself  at  a  loss  for 
words,  and  stood  before  Eloise  Gordon  coloring 
like  a  school -boy,  until  she  caught  the  infection 
and  began  to  color,  too,  all  over  her  fair  face  and 
white  throat. 

To  hide  her  confusion  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Har- 
wood,  whose  shrewd,  searching  eyes  were  taking 
in  every  detail  of  the  situtation. 

"  I  discovered  a  new  Chicago  to-day.  I  came 
over  here  in  an  omnibus,"  she  said,  with  a  ner- 
vous laugh.  "  There  is  one  which  runs  every 


296 


hour."  And  Mrs.  Harwood  made  the  answer  she 
was  wont  to  make  when  she  had  nothing  to  say — 
"Is  that  so!" 

Then  they  both  turned  to  Mark,  who  realized 
that  he  was  in  an  embarrassing  position. 

To  deny  his  ability  was  useless ;  she  knew  it 
too  well.  To  refuse  to  exercise  it  was  to  appear 
unfriendly  and  unkind.  If  she  had  only  made 
the  request  as  if  he  was  a  friend  and  this  was  a 
kindness;  but,  "confound  her,  she  asked  it  as 
if  I  were  a  barber  or  a  chiropodist,"  thought 
Mark,  with  chagrin,  "  and  she  wanted  a  piece 
of  work  done  which  was  in  my  line  of  busi- 
ness." 

There  was  an  awkward  pause  which  Mrs.  Har- 
wood, as  hostess,  felt  in  duty  bound  to  fill.  "  I'm 
sorry  Miss  Larrabee's  so  bad,"  she  said,  sympa- 
thetically. "  I  guess  from  what  I  hear  that  a 
good  many  of  Dr.  Symonds's  folks  are  in  the 
same  fix  since  he  went  away." 

At  this  Mark  found  his  tongue.  "Mental 
suggestion  ought  to  be  taken  out  of  the  hands 
of  these  ignorant  creatures  and  intrusted  to 
scientific  men,"  he  said. 

"  I  dunno  about  that,"  said  Mrs.  Harwood,  re- 
flectively. "The  'babes  and  sucklings'  are  not 
half  so  apt  to  cut  up  didoes  with  it  as  the  '  wise 
and  prudent ;'  they  das'n't.  Besides,  what  have 
the  '  wise  and  prudent '  found  out  that  amounts 
to  anything?  They  don't  know  what  it  is  or 
where  it  comes  from." 


297 


"  Then  they  had  better  let  it  alone," -said  Mark, 
severely. 

"  But  can  you  let  it  alone  ?"  asked  Eloise,  who 
had  been  doing  some  pretty  steady  thinking  on 
the  subject  of  late.  "  Doesn't  '  suggestion  '  de- 
pend on  influence  ?  Surely  influence  exists  and 
ought  to  be  exerted  for — for  good."  She  hesi- 
tated, and  her  eyes  fell.  To  her  and  to  Mark 
Heffron  this  was  a  personal  discussion. 

"Exerted  !"  he  cried.  "Heaven  forbid  !  If  you 
have  any  influence,  bottle  it  up  ;  seal  it  hermeti- 
cally; bury  it  fathoms  deep!  Then  it  will  get 
away  in  spite  of  you." 

"  I  don't  think  Dr.  Symonds  was  a  bad  man," 
put  in  Mrs.  Harwood,  with  no  particular  perti- 
nence, but  fearing  another  pause.  "He  was  *  oc- 
cupied with  good  works '  more  than  he  was  with 
preaching.  I  should  think  most  ministers  would 
preach  away  all  the  religion  they've  got." 

No  one  responded  and  the  dreaded  pause  en- 
sued. Eloise  looked  at  her  watch.  "My  om- 
nibus is  nearly  due,"  she  said,  rising.  "  Good- 
bye, Mrs.  Harwood.  May  I  depend  upon  your 
assistance,  Mr.  Heffron  ?" 

Mark  rose  also.  "  You  had  better  let  me  get 
a  horse  and  take  you  home,"  he  said,  consider- 
ately. 

"  It  is  wholly  unnecessary,"  she  returned,  cold- 
ly— she  did  not  want  him  to  be  considerate — 
"  unless  you  object  to  the  omnibus,"  she  added. 

"  Not  at  all." 


298 


They  set  off  together,  watched  from  the  door 
by  Mrs.  Harwood  until  they  were  out  of  sight. 
"  Both  of  'em  need  the  same  thing,"  she  solilo- 
quized. "  But  they  can't  either  of  'em  give  it 
to  the  other.  This  is  a  queer  world — I  must  go 
in  and  do  those  dishes." 

Since  that  fatal  summer  at  Beau  Lieu  these 
two  had  not  been  alone  together  until  now ; 
there  had  always  been  some  one  else  present  to 
interpose  as  a  shield.  They  congratulated  them- 
selves that  it  could  not  be  for  long  ;  there  were 
sure  to  be  other  passengers  in  the  omnibus.  Sud- 
denly it  turned  the  corner,  three  blocks  ahead — a 
big  black  vehicle  enveloped  in  its  own  dust  and 
defended  by  its  own  noise,  impervious  alike  to 
signal  and  shout.  After  a  few  ineffectual  efforts 
to  stop  it,  Mark  gave  up  the  chase.  "  Here  is  a 
livery-stable,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  companion. 
"  If  you  will  wait  in  the  office — " 

"  It  isn't  far  to  the  Lake  View,"  she  protested. 
"  I  have  walked  much  farther." 

"  If  you  will  wait  in  the  office  I  will  order  a 
carriage,"  he  finished,  and  she  obeyed.  To  do 
otherwise  would  have  appeared  like  childishness, 
and  if  ever  Eloise  desired  to  appear  mature  and 
dignified  it  was  now.  She  had  not  long  to  wait. 
Very  soon  she  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  and 
went  to  the  door  to  meet  the  carriage.  It  was 
a  coupe. 

"I  can  sit  with  the  driver,"  said  Mark,  answering 
the  expression  on  her  face  as  he  helped  her  in. 


299 


"  By  no  means,"  she  responded,  quickly.  "  Have 
I  been  rude  ?  I  beg  your  pardon,"  and  she  drew 
aside  the  skirt  of  her  gown  to  make  room  for  him. 

"  Not  rude,"  he  replied,  taking  the  seat  beside 
her ;  "  but  of  course  I  know  you  would  rather 
be  rid  of  me  if  circumstances  permitted." 

"  Yet  I  am  asking  a  favor  of  you." 

"  As  you  might  ask  a  dentist  to  pull  a  tooth. 
There  was  no  one  else  to  do  it." 

"  Is  it  strange,"  she  asked,  defiantly,  "  that  I 
am — that  I  feel — " 

"  Why  can  you  not  forget  that  piece  of  boyish 
nonsense  ?"  he  exclaimed,  impatiently. 

"  You  were  not  a  boy  and  it  was  not  nonsense. 
Besides,  I  choose  not  to  forget.  I  choose  to  re- 
member that  I  am  weak,  easily  influenced,  liable 
to  be  played  upon  by  any  one  who  wishes  to 
amuse  himself  with  that  sort  of  experiment !" 
The  passion  in  her  voice  betrayed  what  she  had 
suffered. 

Mark  Heffron  gazed  at  her  with  amazement. 
Emotions  of  pity  and  self-reproach  were  depict- 
ed on  his  face.  She  did  not  see  his  face,  but  she 
detected  the  change  in  his  voice  as  he  ejaculated 
under  his  breath,  "  Cursed  fool !  cursed  brute  ! 
clumsy  fool !"  and  she  knew  he  was  belaboring 
himself. 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?  How  can  I  explain  ?"  he 
continued  to  her. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  say,  nothing  to  explain," 
she  answered,  proudly.  "  You  revealed  me  to 


300 


myself.  It  has  taught  me  to  keep  myself  in  a — 
straight-jacket  ever  since." 

"  A  straight-jacket !"  exclaimed  Mark  so  loud- 
ly that  the  driver  opened  his  window  with  an 
obsequious,  "  Beg  pardon,  sir  ?" 

"  Nothing.     Go  ahead  !"  shouted  Mark. 

"  Hey  ?"  asked  the  driver,  who  was  somewhat 
deaf. 

"Nothing!"  roared  Mark,  and  slammed  the 
window  in  his  face.  Eloise  smiled  a  wintry 
little  smile,  and  Mark  took  courage.  "  Do  try 
to  see,"  he  began,  eagerly.  "  It  is  not  weakness, 
but  the  artistic  temperament  which  makes  you 
sensitive,  susceptible.  I  was  a  brute  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  it.  But  I  wanted  to  see  you.  I  had 
something  for  you.  I  did  not  really  expect  to 
succeed.  I  never  thought  of  your  taking  it  so 
seriously." 

She  bit  her  lip  in  self-restraint. 

"  Will  you  forgive  me?"  he  pleaded,  humbly, 
tenderly.  Alas,  he  was  too  humble,  too  tender. 
She  stiffened  where  she  sat.  "  Of  course,"  she 
answered,  frigidly,  and  he  was  quite  sure  she 
never  would. 

They  spoke  no  more  until  they  reached  the 
hotel,  and  then  she  asked,  courteously,  "  You  will 
dine  with  us?"  but  he  answered,  "No."  Her 
face  fell ;  he  had  not  yet  acceded  to  her  request. 
"  I  will  return,"  he  added. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  warming  a  frac- 
tion of  a  degree. 


301 


"  Not  at  all,"  he  answered,  cooling  to  the  same 
extent,  "  and  I  may  fail." 

"  Oh  no  !"     Her  lip  curled. 

"She  hates  me  as  if  I  were  the  devil,"  said 
Mark  to  himself,  as  he  rode  away.  "  I  wish  I 
had  never  touched  the  confounded  thing." 

People  were  going  in  to  dinner  when  Eloise 
entered  the  hotel.  Through  the  open  doorway 
of  the  dining-room  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  Will- 
iam Pleasant  on  the  lookout  for  her.  He  ran  for- 
ward, calling,  "Oh,  Mis'  Gordon!  beg  pardon  for 
hollerin'  at  ye,  but  Mr.  Bering  says  you're  to  eat 
dinner  befo'  you  go  up-stairs." 

"I  don't  want  a  mouthful,  Pleasant,"  she  an- 
swered, putting  from  her  with  a  gesture  the  very 
offer  of  food. 

"  Oh,  please,  Mis'  Gordon  !"  Pleasant  begged 
as  if  interceding  for  a  life.  "  I've  got  it  all  fixed 
up  nice,  for  ye.  Jus'  come  an'  look  at  it,  Mis' 
Gordon." 

Unwilling  to  disappoint  him,  she  went  into  the 
dining-room  and  took  her  seat.  With  joyful 
alacrity  Pleasant  removed  the  covers  from  the 
dishes  and  presented  them  for  her  approval  one 
by  one. 

"Very  nice,  very  nice  indeed,  Pleasant,"  she 
repeated,  absent-mindedly,  and  made  a  show  of 
tasting  this  and  that. 

"  But  she  ain't  eatin' — only  jus'  play !"  groaned 
Pleasant.  He  racked  his  brain  for  entertaining 
gossip  to  spur  her  laggard  appetite.  "  Guess  you 


302 


ain't  noticed  the  boys  got  on  dress -suits,  Mis' 
Gordon,"  be  began,  anxiously. 

"  Why,  yes  ;  so  they  have  !"  she  answered, 
arousing  from  her  reverie.  "  How  did  that  hap- 
pen, Pleasant  ?" 

"  The  boys  over  at  the  Wilmin'ton  had  'em  on 
since  May,"  explained  Pleasant.  "  Our  boss  had 
to  come  to  it.  Can't  let  the  Wilmin'ton  boys  get 
ahead  of  us."  He  chuckled  as  he  spoke,  and 
tripped  lightly  to  and  fro,  changing  the  dishes. 

"  Consid'able  many  of  our  boys  gettin1  mar- 
ried," he  pursued,  encouraged  by  his  success. 
"They  think  they  might  as  well,  when  they  got 
their  suits." 

Eloise  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  "I  suppose 
you'll  be  going  after  the  lady  you  used  to  think 
about  when  you  played  '  Pleasant  Dreams,' "  she 
suggested. 

Pleasant  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "She  went 
off  with  another  feller,"  he  answered.  "  That's 
all  right;  there's  another  lady.  But  I  ain't 
goin'  to  get  married.  Won't  you  have  some 
ice-cream,  Mis'  Gordon?  It's  very  nice  this 
evenin'." 

"  Oh,  I  can't,  Pleasant;  Pve  done  my  best;" 
and  she  threw  down  her  napkin. 

"  Jus'  picked  a  little,  like  a  chicken !"  muttered 
Pleasant,  discontentedly.  He  shook  his  head  as 
he  released  her. 

"  She's  goin'  to  be  sick  again,  sho's  the  world," 
he  grumbled,  as  he  gathered  up  his  neglected 


303 


dishes  and  shuffled  with  them  down  the  long 
dining-room  ;  nor  could  he  have  understood  had 
he  known  the  value  of  his  ministrations. 

"  A  servant  is  much  better  than  a  lover,"  said 
Eloise  to  herself,  and  smiled  all  the  way  to  the 
elevator. 

Carl  met  her  in  the  studio,  leaving  Aunt  Har- 
riet's room  as  she  entered.  "  Come  into  the  hall," 
she  whispered,  and  they  tiptoed  out  together. 

"  It's  of  no  use,  she  hears  everything,"  he  said, 
when  they  were  outside. 

"  We'll  go  farther  away,  then,"  said  Eloise,  with 
determination.  "  She  must  not  know.  Mr.  Hef- 
fron  is  going  to  put  her  to  sleep." 

Carl  danced  a  quickstep,  noiselessly.  "Good 
for  you!"  he  whispered.  "Where  did  you  run 
across  him  ?" 

"At  Mrs.  Harwood's.  Go  down  now  to  your 
dinner,  and  leave  word  at  the  desk,  when  Mr. 
Heffron  arrives,  to  let  you  know.  You  can  bring 
him  up  as  a  friend  of  yours  ;  then  she  won't  sus- 
pect me.  He  can  sit  in  the  studio  where  she  won't 
see  him,  but  he  can  see  her." 

"  Eloise,  you're  a  brick  !"  exclaimed  her  cousin, 
solemnly. 

"  Hurry  !"  she  urged.  "  Don't  stop  to  talk.  He 
may  be  back  any  minute  ;"  and  she  glided  from 
him  into  the  studio. 

Aunt  Harriet  was  lying  precisely  as  she  had 
lain  for  days,  staring  with  wild,  wide-open  eyes 
at  the  ceiling.  Her  gray  hair  was  tossed  like 


304 


spray  about  her  face.  Her  thin,  pointed  little 
nose  looked  thinner  and  sharper  than  ever,  and 
her  small  mouth  was  puckered  like  that  of  a  child 
who  resolves  not  to  cry. 

Eloise  longed  to  take  the  pathetic  little  figure 
up  in  her  strong  young  arms,  but  the  formal  rela- 
tions which  had  existed  between  them  since  Aunt 
Harriet  became  a  "healer"  and  she  herself  a  girl 
with  a  broken  engagement  rendered  such  a  move 
out  of  the  question.  There  must  be  many  a  subtle 
change  in  both  before  they  could  meet  on  the  old 
terms. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  she  asked,  gen- 
tly, and  Aunt  Harriet  shook  her  head. 

With  a  sigh,  Eloise  seated  herself  by  the  win- 
dow and  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap.  As  she  did 
so  they  came  in  contact  with  a  letter  which  she 
had  put  into  her  pocket  that  morning,  unopened 
because  it  was  from  Philip,  and  just  then  she  could 
not  bear  any  added  burden  of  sorrow  or  regret. 

She  broke  the  seal  and  read  it  now  by  the  fad- 
ing sunset  glow;  not  that  her  heart  was  lighter 
than  before  or  less  anxious,  but  something  was 
about  to  happen,  and  something  had  happened  ; 
between  the  two  experiences,  it  would  be  easier 
to  forget. 

Philip  wrote  in  a  direct,  manly  way  of  his  plans 
and  purposes  ;  he  was  going  to  Idaho  on  a  pros- 
pecting tour  with  some  friends,  and  should  not 
return  until  he  could  be  satisfied  with  her  friend- 
ship, and  could  offer  her  his  own  without  a  pang. 


305 


She  must  not  blame  herself,  he  wrote  :  he  was 
the  only  one  to  blame  for  presuming  upon  her 
generosity.  She  had  tried  her  best  to  care  for 
him  and  he  appreciated  the  effort,  even  if  it  had 
been  useless. 

There  was  no  address.  Evidently  he  expected  no 
reply.  She  longed  to  send  him  some  word — dear, 
noble  Philip,  he  deserved  a  better  fate  than  to 
devote  his  life  to  her !  With  all  her  heart  she 
longed  for  his  happiness  and  success,  at  the  same 
time  emphasizing  her  resentment  against  Mark 
Heffron  as  if  it  were  a  virtue.  She  could  have 
been  as  hard  on  him,  just  then,  as  she  tried  to  be 
on  herself. 

Slowly  the  rose  of  sunset  faded,  and  the  city 
streets  blossomed  with  lights  as  thickly  as  a 
May  meadow  with  bluets.  Eloise  watched  them 
thoughtfully.  "  God's  light  is  withdrawn ;  we 
must  make  what  substitute  we  can,"  she  said,  and 
arose  with  a  sigh,  for  she  heard  Carl  at  the  studio 
door,  and  knew  that  Mark  was  with  him. 

"  I'll  go  and  prepare  her,"  whispered  Carl ;  and, 
waiting  in  the  hall,  they  heard  the  low,  inartic- 
ulate murmur  of  his  voice  and  the  querulous  re- 
sponse of  the  invalid. 

"Is  he  a  regular  healer?"  asked  Aunt  Harriet. 
"  I  don't  want  any  animal  magnetism ;"  and  again, 
"Eloise  cannot  be  in  the  room.  I  shall  feel  her 
opposition." 

The  soothing  murmur  went  on,  and  the  feeble 

complaint  grew  feebler,  until  at  last  they  heard 
20 


306 


her  say,  "  Well,  I'll  try  him,  to  please  you,  but  I 
know  he  can't  help  me." 

Then  Carl  came  out  into  the  hall.  "  She  doesn't 
take  much  stock  in  it,  but  she's  willing  to  try," 
he  whispered.  "  You'll  have  to  sit  away  from 
the  bed,  Eloise ;  she  doesn't  want  you  too  near. 
Mr.  Heffron  is  to  sit  in  the  studio  as  we  proposed. 
You  can  let  him  know  when  she  goes  to  sleep. 
I've  got  to  get  back  to  town.  Humphrey  will  be 
crazy;  I  promised  to  meet  him  at  half-past  seven. 
Good-bye.  Good-luck  !"  and  he  was  off. 

As  quietly  as  possible  they  took  their  places, 
Eloise  by  the  window,  where  a  ray  from  the  hall 
came  over  the  transom  and  gilded  her  hair ;  Mark 
in  the  shadow  of  a  huge  easel,  where,  with  his 
bowed  head  and  bent  shoulders,  he  could  not  be 
distinguished  from  the  couches  and  chairs  about 
him.  The  mystery  of  silence  settled  down  upon 
the  place.  They  heard  the  rumble  in  the  street 
below,  they  heard  the  clock  tick  on  its  shelf  in 
the  studio,  they  heard  the  beating  of  their  own 
hearts;  but  the  unknown  utterance  of  the  city, 
the  homely  voice  of  the  clock  and  their  own 
throbbing  pulses  were  alike  remote  and  unrelated 
to  them. 

Aunt  Harriet  gave  a  happy  little  sigh  ;  she  rec- 
ognized the  silence,  and  the  power  which  gov- 
erned it.  Eloise  would  have  sighed,  too,  if  she  had 
not  strangled  the  fluttering  breath  as  it  escaped. 
Mark  was  too  much  occupied  in  what  he  was 
doing  to  notice  either  of  the  women,  fascinated, 


307 


now  that  he  was  fairly  at  it,  by  the  production  of 
that  strange  anaesthetic  which  is  generated  by  the 
contact  of  two  human  wills,  the  will  to  yield, 
sometimes  known  as  faith,  and  the  will  to  com- 
mand and  control.  He  could  feel  the  force  go 
out  from  him,  and  he  exulted  in  his  mastery.  He 
could  feel  the  fragile  creature  upon  the  bed  relax 
and  soften  and  become  like  clay  in  his  hands ;  and 
a  great  tenderness  filled  him — the  tenderness  of 
responsibility  for  the  life  intrusted  to  him. 

Another  force  he  felt,  drawing  and  mastering 
him. 

He  stood  up  suddenly  and  confronted  Eloise, 
who  bowed  her  head  and  laid  her  finger  on  her 
lips.  He  glanced  at  the  bed;  the  patient  was 
sleeping  like  a  child.  He  did  not  want  to  go,  he 
wanted  to  linger  and  look  at  the  girl  before  him, 
transformed  as  she  was,  at  that  moment,  by  the 
exaltation  of  her  mood. 

"I  have  heard  that  it  affects  some  of  them  in 
that  way,"  he  mused,  as  he  went  down  the  hall, 
that  radiant  white  face  following  him.  He  de- 
cided that  he  himself  felt  "queer"  ;  there  seemed 
to  be  a  cloud  around  him,  and  his  own  steps 
jarred  him  as  he  walked.  He  went  to  the  hall 
window  and  looked  down  upon  the  boulevard 
lights,  strung  like  beads,  in  two  even  rows,  as  far 
as  eye  could  reach.  There  was  a  balcony  outside  ; 
he  stepped  out  upon  it,  and  sank  into  a  chair 
which  he  found  there. 

By  and  by  the  cloud  which  had  hung  about  him 


308 


and  hindered  his  movements  unfolded  and  floated 
away.  His  head  became  clear  again,  with  a  pecul- 
iar clearness.  He  felt  ready  for  any  intellectual 
effort,  and  free  from  the  limitations  of  the  body. 
Then  the  body  came  back  also  to  its  full  con- 
sciousness, and  he  was  himself  again  ;  so  much 
himself  that  he  laughed  as  he  went  down  in  the 
elevator  at  a  certain  humorous  phase  of  the  situa- 
tion which  struck  him  now  for  the  first  time.  He 
had  been  doing  Dr.  Sj^monds's  work  as  nearly 
as  possible  in  Dr.  Symonds's  way,  only  not  as 
well,  in  all  probability,  as  the  absent  healer  would 
himself  have  done  it. 


XXXI 

IT  was  late  when  Mark  reached  his  hotel.  There 
was  not  a  horse  to  be  had  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Lake  View,  and  he  had  to  walk  some  distance 
before  taking  the  cable.  The  cars  were  full,  and 
stopped  all  along  the  line  with  a  continuous  bump 
and  jar  extremely  trying  to  nerves  made  sensitive 
by  such  an  experience  as  his  had  recently  under- 
gone. He  was  tired  and  out  of  sorts  when  he 
reached  his  room.  A  bright  light  shone  through 
the  keyhole.  "I  must  have  left  the  electrics 
turned  on,"  he  said  to  himself;  "but  what  ails 
this  infernal  lock?" 

"  Hold  on  ;  I'm  coming  !"  called  a  cheerful 
voice  within.  The  bolt  slid  back,  and  Joe  Norton 
appeared,  his  blond  locks  standing  on  end  and  his 
eyes  hazy  with  sleep. 

"Where  in  thunder  did  you  drop  from?" 
growled  Mark,  not  altogether  pleased  with  the 
nature  of  the  surprise. 

"  From  New  York,  of  course,"  replied  Joey,  un- 
abashed. "I'm  never  anywhere  else,  except  here. 
I  didn't  have  time  to  write,  and  I  wanted  to  see 
you  about  the  exchange." 


310 


"  What  exchange  ?"  asked  Mark,  stretching 
himself  on  the  couch  where  Joey  had  been. 

"  Exchange  of  positions  ;  you  know,  of  course 
you  do — you  said  you'd  change  with  me  and  be 
glad  to,  until  Uncle  Eli  is  better." 

"  You're  asleep,  Joey,"  rejoined  his  host.  "  Pass 
the  matches.  And  ring  for  some  ice-water  while 
you're  about  it.  You  may  as  well  make  yourself 
useful  as  long  as  you  are  here." 

Joey  did  as  he  was  bid,  describing  at  length 
and  with  minuteness  the  time,  place,  and  circum- 
stances of  the  agreement  between  himself  and  his 
friend,  concluding  triumphantly,  "Now,  do  you 
remember  ?" 

"  H-m,  ye-es,  something  of  the  sort,"  returned 
Mark  with  indifference. 

"And  the  Firm  want  you  to  go  right  on,"  pur- 
sued Norton. 

«  Hang  the  Firm  !" 

"  They  said  you  could  tell  me  whatever  I  ought 
to  know  to-night,  and  go  on  early  to-morrow." 

"Sha'n't  do  anything  of  the  sort.  The  idea  of 
expecting  a  man  to  start  up  without  warning  and 
post  off  for  an  indefinite  stay.  Sha'n't  do  any- 
thing of  the  sort.  I  have  several  things  to  attend 
to,"  and  Mark  thumped  his  pillows  and  settled 
himself  among  them,  prepared  to  defend  himself 
against  any  arguments  which  might  be  brought 
forward. 

"  Can't  I  attend  to  them  for  you  ?"  asked  Joey, 
meekly. 


311 


"  No,  you  can't." 

"Try  me  and  see."  Joey  smoothed  his  hair 
with  his  fingers  and  tried  to  look  reliable. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  my  personal  affairs?" 
asked  Mark,  irritably. 

"Mighty  little,  that's  a  fact,"  agreed  Joey. 
"  But  I  could  explain  your  being  called  away,  and 
that  you  will  return  soon." 

"  I  could  write  that." 

"You  can  write  it  too,  but  you  know  there's 
nothing  like  a  personal  interview." 

Mark  deliberated.  To  tell  the  truth,  his  busi- 
ness affairs  were  where  they  could  be  left  with  a 
few  instructions,  and  as  to  personal  matters,  he 
could  break  his  appointment  with  Uncle  Oliver 
Ross  by  letter,  and  charge  Joey  with  a  verbal 
message  to  others  whom  he  had  promised  to  meet, 
but — what  would  Eloise  Gordon  think  of  him  if 
he  deserted  her  now?  He  had  promised  her,  while 
they  waited  in  the  hall  for  Carl,  to  return  the  next 
day  and  see  how  Miss  Larrabee  was  getting  on. 

"You  see  the  Firm  are  so  sure  of  you,"  urged 
Joey,  cunningly,  "  they're  forever  holding  you  up 
to  me  as  a  model  of  promptness.  And  you  needn't 
stay  there,  only  till  I  get  Uncle  Eli  started  on  the 
right  road." 

"I'll  see,"  said  Mark,  "but  go  to  bed,  now,  for 
Heaven's  sake  !  I'm  dead  tired." 

"  I  know  you  are,  poor  old  chap,  you  show  it !" 
exclaimed  Joey,  compassionately,  "Things  will 
look  differently  in  the  morning." 


312 


They  did.  After  a  hearty  sleep,  the  experience 
at  the  Lake  View  grew  unreal ;  the  responsibility 
he  had  laid  upon  himself  seemed  unnecessary, 
after  all.  He  let  Joey  pack  his  trunk  while  he 
wrote  half  a  dozen  letters,  leaving  them  to  be 
mailed  or  delivered  as  he  directed.  The  letter  to 
Eloise  he  wrote  last,  and  held  it  in  his  hand  medi- 
tatively. 

"How  do  you  want  that  one  to  go?"  asked 
Joey,  coming  to  the  table. 

"I  haven't  decided,"  replied  Mark,  slowly. 
"  I've  tried  to  be  very  explicit,  and  it's  as  clear 
as  mud." 

"  Let  me  explain  !"  cried  Joey,  dramatically. 
"I  can  dwell  on  your  anguish  as  you  never  could. 
'Miss  Eloise  Gordon, Lake  View  Hotel.'  I  know 
her,  she's  Bering's  cousin  ;  nice  girl,  too,  but  cold 
as  an  icicle.  I'll  explain.  What  was  it  ?" 

"I  had  been  doing  some  —  business  for  her," 
prevaricated  Mark,  "  and  I  promised  to  see  her 
to-day.  Perhaps  it  would  be  a  good  plan  for  you 
to  go  out  there.  You  can  tell  her  just  how  it  is, 
and  that  I  may  be  back  in  a  week.  By  the  way, 
her  aunt  is  sick  ;  you  might  find  out  how  she  is 
and  let  me  know.  The  two  are  alone  in  the 
world  and  it  is  rather  forlorn  for  the  girl." 

Joey  promised,  and  Mark  tried  to  think  he  had 
arranged  everything  satisfactorily,  but  his  heart 
misgave  him  as  he  boarded  the  noon  express.  The 
power  which  had  drawn  and  held  him  the  night 
before  drew  and  held  him  now.  If  he  could  have 


313 


found   any  reasonable   excuse  for   returning   he 
would  have  done  so.     What  was  it  ?  he  asked. 

Had  she  happened  upon  the  trick,  herself,  and 
did  she  mean  to  pay  off  the  old  score  ? 

No,  no,  her  rapt  look,  the  open  brow,  the  fear- 
less eyes,  gave  the  lie  to  that  suggestion.  But 
what  did  it  all  mean  ? 

Eloise  herself  could  not  tell.  As  she  sat  and 
watched  Aunt  Harriet's  rigid  limbs  relax,  saw  her 
clenched  hands  unfold,  heard  her  regular  breath- 
ing, and  through  the  open  door  traced  the  outline 
of  the  man  who  was  sitting  there,  she  felt,  as  on 
that  summer  night  at  Beau  Lieu,  great  coiling 
chains  of  influence  encircling  her,  impelling  her 
towards  him.  She  grasped  the  chair  in  which 
she  sat  and  turned  her  face  towards  the  window 
with  an  appeal  for  help.  The  sky  was  full  of 
stars.  One  hung,  a  laughing  cherub,  under  the 
eaves.  "  God's  light  is  not  withdrawn,"  it  said. 

She  drew  in  her  breath  with  a  quick  sense  of 
freedom,  and  then  Mark  Heffron  stood  up  and 
looked  at  her,  questioningly.  She  gave  him  the. 
signal  and  he  went  away.  The  whole  had  not 
occupied  half  a  dozen  seconds,  yet  it  seemed  to 
her  that  a  lifetime  was  compressed  into  them. 
They  spread  over  hours  of  reflection  afterwards 
and  then  remained  undefined.  It  was  a  wonderful 
experience  ;  would  it  ever  come  again  ? 

Aunt  Harriet  hardly  stirred  all  night,  taking 
great  draughts  of  sleep  as  one  quenches  a  long 
thirst. 


314 


In  the  morning  she  called  for  her  breakfast  and 
ate  it  with  a  relish.  By  noon  she  was  asking  for 
her  healer. 

"  He  said  he  would  be  in  some  time  to-day,  but 
I  don't  think  he  expected  to  see  you,"  said  Eloise. 

"  Why  not?"  inquired  Aunt  Harriet, sharply. 

"He — he  doesn't  do  this  work  very  often, "re- 
plied her  niece,  with  some  hesitation.  "  We  were 
not  even  to  tell  his  name." 

"  Of  course  not,  to  people  in  the  house,"  said 
Aunt  Harriet,  promptly.  "  But  if  he  knows  I  am 
following  the  same  line  of  thought — you  couldn't 
have  made  it  clear  to  him  where  I  stand,  Eloise." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  replied  her  niece,  demurely. 

The  afternoon  wore  slowly  on.  Aunt  Harriet 
insisted  upon  being  prepared  to  receive  visitors, 
displaying  an  unusual  fastidiousness  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  her  hair  and  the  disposition  of  the 
bedclothes.  About  four  o'clock  a  card  was  brought 
to  Eloise.  She  read  it  with  a  puzzled  frown. 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  the  invalid,  sitting 
bolt  upright. 

"  '  Joseph  Norton,' "  repeated  Eloise.  "  I  don't 
know  any  Joseph  Norton.  It  must  be  a  mistake." 

"Yes,  you  do,"  exclaimed  her  aunt.  "  He's  Mr. 
Eli  Norton's  nephew.  We  met  them  one  day 
at  the  Art  Gallery,  when  we  went  with  Carl. 
Mr.  Norton  has  sent  him  out  to  inquire  for  me. 
Pull  that  chair  around,  that  one  by  the  window. 
I  shall  want  him  to  sit  where  I  can  see  him." 

"  But,   auntie,   do   you    feel    able  ?"   faltered 


315 


Eloise,  who  was  not  sure  tbat  Mr.  Eli  Norton's 
nephew  had  come  to  inquire  after  Miss  Larra- 
bee's  health. 

"  It  will  do  me  good,"  said  the  invalid,  posi- 
tively. "  You  can  bring  him  right  up." 

Joey  was  in  the  reception-room,  composing  a 
graceful  little  speech,  calculated  to  explain  and 
conciliate  and  pave  the  way  for  himself  to  walk 
into  the  good  graces  of  Miss  Gordon,  who,  as  far 
as  he  could  determine,  was  the  only  nice  girl  left 
in  town.  But  Eloise  came  so  soon,  driven  before 
Aunt  Harriet's  desire,  and  so  quietly  that  she 
caught  him  unprepared.  He  did  not  know  she 
was  there  until  she  said,  "  Mr.  Norton  ?"  and 
held  out  her  hand. 

He  took  it  eagerly.  She  was  prettier  than  he 
thought,  and  knew  how  to  dress — by  Jove,  she 
was  like  a  picture  in  that  white  gown.  In  his 
admiration  and  his  pleasure  that  she  remembered 
him  (thanks  to  Aunt  Harriet)  he  almost  forgot 
why  he  was  there.  When  he  recalled  his  errand 
he  went  at  it  manfully,  and  explained  so  much 
that  any  one  less  suspicious  than  Eloise  would 
have  wondered  what  he  had  to  conceal. 

She  listened  to  him  civilly  and  believed  not  a 
word  he  said.  According  to  her  experience  of 
Mark  Heffron,  that  individual  invariably  did  as 
he  pleased.  If  he  had  chosen  to  remain,  he  would 
have  done  so  ;  why  make  so  many  words  ? 

She  told  Joey  it  was  really  of  no  consequence  ; 
indeed,  she  had  not  expected  Mr.  Heffron,  know- 


316 


ing  that  he  had  so  many  interests,  so  many 
schemes  ;  and  then,  because  she  was  offended 
with  one  man,  she  made  herself  particularly  de- 
lightful to  another,  as  girls  are  Avont  to  do.  Joey 
was  only  too  willing  to  be  charmed. 

He  begged  to  come  again  to-morrow.  Chicago 
was  dull  and  he  was  lonely.  Situated  similarly, 
he  with  his  uncle,  she  with  her  aunt,  they  ought 
to  find  many  points  of  sympathy. 

They  could  have  found  one,  at  least,  when  they 
returned  to  their  respective  charges,  for  both  the 
patients  were  thoroughly  incensed  at  being  left 
so  long  alone.  Uncle  Eli  suffered  a  collapse  which 
rendered  him  limp  and  well  -  nigh  speechless. 
When  he  finally  found  his  voice,  it  was  the  ghost 
of  a  whisper. 

Aunt  Harriet,  on  the  contrary,  was  like  a  steel 
spring  released  from  compression.  She  bounced 
up  in  bed  when  her  niece  entered  and  told  her 
tartly  there  was  room  in  the  Old  Ladies'  Home 
for  people  who  had  no  friends  to  care  for  them. 

"  Mr.  Norton  came  to  say  that  the — the  gen- 
tleman who  was  here  last  night  has  been  obliged 
to  go  to  New  York,"  explained  Eloise.  "I  am 
sorry  you  felt  neglected.  He  says  his  uncle  is 
very  weak.  What  will  you  have  for  supper?" 

"You  needn't  try  to  put  me  off  in  that  way, 
Eloise,"  returned  Aunt  Harriet,  severely.  "  There 
has  been  something  ve-ry  strange  about  this  whole 
performance.  Carl  comes  in  to  tell  me  about  a 
friend  of  his  and  goes  off,  and  the  man  comes 


317 


and  doesn't  show  his  face.  Now,  Mr.  Norton's 
nephew  appears  and  seems  to  know  all  about  it, 
but  I,  I  am  kept  completely  in  the  dark  !" 

She  had  shaken  her  gray  hair  down  about  her 
shoulders  in  the  vehemence  of  her  complaint,  her 
eyes  glittered  and  her  cheeks  glowed.  Eloise 
began  to  be  alarmed.  "  There,  there,  auntie," 
she  murmured  soothingly,  "  it's  all  right.  You 
must  not  get  so  excited.  Lie  down,  now,  do, 
that's  a  dear,  and  I  will  go  to  the  steward  and 
get  something  good  for  your  supper.'' 

Aunt  Harriet  suffered  herself  to  be  rearranged 
in  bed,  but  she  was  by  no  means  reconciled.  In 
her  heart  she  resented  fiercely  the  loss  of  what 
had  been  the  source  of  her  consolation  and 
strength.  She  demanded  reparation  of  all  who 
came  near,  the  more  strenuously  because  they 
did  not  realize  the  loss  or  accept  its  responsi- 
bility. 

"  I  am  really  troubled  about  her,"  said  Eloise 
to  Mrs.  Harwood,  who  came  in  the  next  morning 
"  to  inquire." 

"  How  did  she  rest  last  night  ?" 

"  Very  well." 

"  And  ate  her  breakfast  ?" 

"  All  of  it ;  but  she  is  so  unlike  herself,  so 
unreasonable.  I  am  afraid  her  brain  is  affected." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  declared  Mrs.  Harwood  stoutly. 
"  She's  been  pious  so  long  that  she's  got  torpid. 
This  is  kinder  like  measles  or  scarlatina  ;  it  '11 
clear  out  her  system.  Dan'l  came  home  from 


318 


the  Farm  last  night  with  a  sore  throat,  and  I  had 
a  great  time  sweating  him." 

"  I  hope  he  isn't  going  to  be  sick,"  said  Eloise 
with  sympathy,  more  for  Dan'l's  wife,  it  must  be 
confessed,  than  for  Dan'l. 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Harwood.  "  Now 
don't  you  worry  about  Miss  Larrabee.  She  won't 
die,  she's  got  too  much  vim." 

Vim  enough  she  had,  certainly,  to  wear  out  her 
delicate  little  frame  and  ingenuity,  unlimited,  in 
devising  means  to  try  to  the  utmost  the  temper 
of  her  niece.  She  had  every  one  of  her  old  mala- 
dies in  succession,  winding  up  with  an  attack  of 
earache  which  necessitated  wearing  wads  of  cot- 
ton in  her  ears  and  close-fitting  muslin  nightcaps, 
tied  under  her  chin.  This  made  her  quite  deaf, 
but  instead  of  asking  "What  say?"  as  she  used  to 
do,  with  pretty,  old-fashioned  elegance,  she  yelled 
"Wh-at?"  like  any  common,  ill-bred  old  person. 

"After  all,"  said  Joey,  to  whom  Eloise  con- 
fessed her  inability  to  understand  Aunt  Harri- 
et's latest  development — "  after  all,  that  sort  of 
thing  is  easier  to  handle  than  complete  non-re- 
sistance. If  Uncle  Eli  would  only  fight,  I  should 
have  some  hope  of  him.  I'm  tempted  to  put  him 
aboard  one  of  the  lake  steamers  and  take  him 
East.  He'd  be  abominably  sick — he  always  is — 
but  he'd  have  to  fight,  then." 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  Aunt  Harriet," 
replied  Eloise,  dejectedly. 

"  Come  along  with  us." 


319 


"  I  don't  believe  she  would  consent." 

"  Take  things  into  your  own  hands." 

Eloise  shook  her  head.  She  had  not  placed 
Aunt  Harriet  again  under  absolutism,  although 
the  latter  had  certainly  forfeited  her  right  to 
autonomy.  Their  little  kingdom  was  tossed  and 
rent,  but  it  was  no  longer  divided  against  itself, 
as  it  had  been  when  Aunt  Harriet  was  more  po- 
lite and  Eloise  was  more  patient. 

"You'd  better  think  it  over,"  persisted  Joey. 
"  "VVe  can  take  the  boat  to  Montreal,  and  then  go 
down  to  the  coast.  I  know  a  place  on  the  South 
Shore.  You  could  get  some  fine  water -colors 
there." 

The  suggestion  was  a  tempting  one.  Eloise 
felt  that  she  could  not  hold  out  for  man}'  days 
at  this  rate.  With  the  exception  of  an  occasional 
walk  with  Joey,  there  was  nothing  to  break  the 
strain  upon  her  nerves. 

Carl  had  gone  to  Mackinac  with  the  Rosses 
and  the  Avers,  and  Mrs.  Harwood  was  house- 
bound with  Dan'l,  whose  sore  throat  had  devel- 
oped into  what  he  designated  as  a  Touch  of  the 
Old  Difficulty.  Mrs.  Glenn  and  the  children 
were  at  Geneva,  where  Mr.  Glenn  spent  his  Sun- 
days. 

The  substantial  guests  of  the  hotel  were  all  out 
of  town.  Those  who  remained  were  noisily  gay 
or  aggressively  melancholy  over  their  financial 
straits  and  the  prolongation  of  the  strike.  The 
very  atmosphere  of  the  place  was  distressing. 


320 


"I  wish  I  could  feel  that  it  is  best  to  go,"  said 
Eloise,  after  a  mental  review  of  the  scenes  which 
she  had  left  and  to  which  she  must  return. 

"  Of  course  it  is  best,"  he  insisted.  "  Hullo  ! 
what  are  they  doing  here?"  They  had  turned 
in  at  Jackson  Park,  where  the  site  of  the  White 
City  was  being  rapidly  transformed  into  a  park. 
A  rude  track  had  been  laid,  and  upon  it  trundled 
wooden  cars  drawn  by  horses. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  inquired  Norton  of  a 
workman  who  was  assisting  the  horses  to  dump 
their  loads  of  dirt. 

"Makin'  a  hill,"  answered  the  man,  patting  the 
mound  affectionately  with  his  spade.  "Same  as 
they  have  over  to  Washington  Park." 

"Making  a  hill !"  replied  Joey,  as  they  walked 
on.  "I  say,  Miss  Gordon,  let's  go  where  they 
grow  !"  and  yielding  to  a  sudden  irresistible  long- 
ing to  get  out  and  away  from  artificialities  of  all 
sorts,  "  hills  "  included,  Eloise  answered, 

"I  will  do  it." 


XXXII 

IT  was  not  difficult  to  convince  Aunt  Harriet  of 
the  advisability  of  a  change,  although  she  pre- 
ferred to  term  it  a  change  of  thought  rather  than 
a  change  of  air  and  scene.  She  had  felt  the  op- 
position of  the  people  in  the  house  for  some  time, 
she  said,  and  now  they  were  "  holding  her  down." 
The  attitude  of  the  strikers  affected  her  like- 
wise, and  so  did  the  presence  of  the  soldiers  on 
the  lake  front.  She  seemed  to  be  completely  at 
the  mercy  of  adverse  elements,  without  a  roof  of 
physical  limitation  over  her  head,  and  stripped 
of  the  cuticle  which  protects  more  undeveloped 
souls.  Eloise,  who  had  computed,  before  Joey 
left  her  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  the  cost  of  the 
journey  and  the  probability  of  a  return  in  pict- 
ures, was  encouraged  to  proceed  with  her  prep- 
arations, and  telephoned  Joey  to  that  effect.  He 
was  not  less  prompt.  Within  a  week  he  had  re- 
ceived his  leave  of  absence — accompanied  by  a 
caustic  letter  from  Mark,  inquiring  if  there  was 
anything  else  he  wanted — and  they  were  off. 

The  weather  was  perfect,  every  one  remained 
on  deck  and  in  the  best  of  spirits  ;  Uncle  Eli  came 
out  of  his  lethargy  without  the  spur  of  seasick- 


322 


ness,  and  Aunt  Harriet  began  to  be  her  old  amia- 
ble self.  At  Montreal  they  found  letters  from 
Point  Carey,  where  Joey  had  written  for  rooms, 
and  went  thither  without  delay.  From  beginning 
to  end  the  excursion  moved  as  smoothly  as  if  there 
had  been  a  Cooke  or  a  Raymond  to  plan  and  con- 
trol. 

"And  yet  you  don't  seem  satisfied,"  pouted 
Joey,  on  the  evening  after  their  arrival,  as  he 
walked  with  Eloise.  "  Now  really,  did  you  ever 
see  anything  finer  than  that  ?" 

He  had  led  her  by  a  circuitous  path  to  a  bluff 
overlooking  the  sea,  which  shone  like  silver.  On 
its  margin  writhed  and  curled  the  tangled  sea- 
weed, and  great  rocks,  scaly  with  mussel-shells, 
lay  half  in  half  out  of  the  water. 

Eloise  shuddered.  "  It  is  uncannj7,"  she  replied, 
and,  turning,  pulled  a  wild-flower  by  the  roots. 
"  I  would  rather  have  this  one  flower  than  miles 
of  that,"  she  said  with  feeling. 

Joey  started  in  surprise.  Her  tone  took  the 
heart  out  of  his  enjoyment.  "  I  thought  you'd 
like  it,"  he  said  with  disappointment.  "You 
have  seemed  so  happy  all  the  way." 

"I  have  been,"  she  answered  quickly,  "and  I 
don't  know  why  I  feel  as  I  do  now,  only —  I  ex- 
pected to  get  somewhere,  and  it's  only  another 
shore,  another  question,  another  mystery.  I  feel 
left  in  the  lurch." 

Joey  drew  nearer  to  her,  but  she  seemed  un- 
aware of  his  proximity.  She  pushed  her  white 


323 


yachting -cap  back  from  her  brows  and  gazed 
moodily  over  the  waste  of  waters. 

"I  almost  wish,"  she  said,  "that  I  could  believe 
as  Aunt  Harriet  and  your  uncle  do.  They  may 
be  tormented  by  other  people,  bat  they  are  never 
in  doubt  about  themselves." 

"Ye-es,"  drawled  Joey — the  drawl  was  to 
cover  a  retreat — "the  world  is  made  up  of  two 
kinds  of  people,  those  who  deceive  themselves 
and  are  comfortable,  and  those  who  tell  them- 
selves the  truth  and  are  uncomfortable.  We 
want  to  tell  ourselves  the  truth,  still  we'd  like  to 
be  comfortable  !" 

"But  how  do  you  know  they  deceive  them- 
selves or  that  we  tell  the  truth  ?  How  do  you 
know  anything  ?  It  is  all  unfathomable,  mysteri- 
ous, dreadful,  like  the  sea?" 

She  drew  the  soft  petals  of  the  flower  across 
her  lips,  caressingly.  Joey  watched  her.  "As 
to  that,''  he  said,  jealously,  "  you  don't  get  away 
from  those  things  on  shore." 

"  No.  I  suppose  they'd  say  this  flower  was  the 
Expression  of  an  Idea,"  she  answered.  "  I  wish  I 
could  find  something  without  any  thought  in 
it." 

"Try  Miss  O'Keefe,"  he  suggested.  "She 
doesn't  even  know  she's  a  flirt.  Her  coquetries 
are  of  the  sticky-fly-paper  order  ;  they  gum  ev- 
erything, unconsciously." 

Eloise  laughed  as  she  was  expected  to  do,  but 
her  face  grew  grave  again. 


324 


The  silver  was  vanishing  from  the  sea.  Its  faint 
sighing  had  become  a  moan. 

"Let  us  go,"  she  said,  turning  her  back  upon 
the  sound. 

As  they  neared  the  Glenallan  a  boy  came  run- 
ning towards  them,  an  ungainly  young  setter  at 
his  heels.  "I've  been  lookin'  everywhere  for 
you,"  he  gasped. 

"  What  is  it  ?     Is  any  one — "  began  Eloise. 

"Both  of  'em,"  interrupted  the  boy.  "Dodd- 
ridge's  mustang  fell  over  the  cliff,  cart  and  all, 
right  on  top  of  'em."  Eloise  waited  to  hear  no 
more. 

The  Glenallan  was  ablaze  with  lights,  and  guests 
were  dancing  on  the  piazza.  She  broke  through 
a  cotillion  and  darted  into  the  house,  Joey  close 
behind  her.  The  proprietor's  wife  met  them  in 
the  hall. 

"Getting  along  all  right,"  she  announced  cheer- 
ily. "  Mr.  Norton  come  out  splendid,  The  doc- 
tor's with  Miss  Larrabee  now." 

Eloise  flew  past  her,  up  the  stairs  and  into  the 
room  which  she  shared  with  Aunt  Harriet.  A 
man  was  bending  over  one  of  the  little  white 
beds,  saying  something  in  a  low  voice  to  the  oc- 
cupant and  rubbing  her  hands.  She  opened  her 
eyes  and  smiled  at  him,  Aunt  Harriet,  who  ab- 
horred all  manner  of  physicians  and  held  a 
stranger  as  an  enemy  until  he  proved  himself 
otherwise,  smiled  at  him  as  one  smiles  into  the 
face  of  a  saviour. 


325 


"Hand  me  that  cup,  please — the  one  with  the 
spoon  in  it,"  said  the  doctor,  without  turning 
his  head.  Eloise  obeyed  and  stood  beside  him  like 
a  child,  awaiting  further  orders.  One  deft  hand 
and  arm  slid  under  the  pillow  and  lifted  the  sick 
woman's  head,  the  other  held  the  cup  to  her  lips. 
She  did  not  refuse  it,  but  drank  as  if  he  had  pledged 
her  a  health. 

"Is  she  going  to  die?"  thought  Eloise  with  a 
pang,  "and  so  feels  that  it  doesn't  matter?  Is 
it  pity  which  makes  his  voice  so  sweet  ?"  She 
watched  the  long  brown  hands  let  down  their 
burden  and  arrange  the  pillows ;  they  even  wiped 
Aunt  Harriet's  lips  and  smoothed  her  hair,  went 
under  the  bedclothes  and  felt  of  her  feet,  then 
made  all  trim  and  straight,  not  fussily,  but  with  a 
swift,  resolute  touch,  the  touch  of  healing. 

He  turned,  at  length,  and  she  saw  his  face,  an 
ordinary,  unromantic  face  with  broad  bulging 
brows,  large  nose,  and  untrained  mustache. 

"Give  her  a  teaspoonful  of  that  medicine  in  the 
cup  every  half-hour  if  she  doesn't  sleep,"  he  said, 
and  abruptly  left  the  room. 

Eloise  followed  him.  "Doctor,  is  my  aunt  go- 
ing to  die  ?"  she  faltered. 

"  Why,  no,"  he  answered  smiling,  "  she  will  be 
all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

"Doctor,"  cried  Joey,  emerging  from  the  oppo- 
site room,  "tell  me,  what  do  you  think  of  my 
uncle  ?" 

"Doing  well,"  answered  the  doctor;  "there's 


326 


nothing  the  matter  with  either  of  them  except 
nerves.  They  were  pretty  thoroughly  scared." 

"  But  I  thought—" 

"Didn't  the  horse — "  began  Eloise  and  Joey, 
simultaneously. 

"The  boy  said  the  cart  and  the  horse  fell  on 
them,"  finished  Eloise. 

"The  young  villain,"  exclaimed  the  doctor, 
"  I'll  wring  his  neck !  I  told  him  not  to  alarm 
you.  Good-night ;  if  you  want  me,  I'm  at  the 
Pavilion  opposite — Dr.  Dow,"  and  before  they 
could  put  another  question  he  was  gone. 

"  We-11 !"  breathed  Joey  in  a  long  sigh. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  very  nearly  had  '  something 
to  cry  for,'  as  the  nurses  say  when  the  children 
cry  for  nothing,"  said  Eloise. 

"Is  there  anything  I  can  do?"  he  asked. 

"No,  thank  you.  Oh,  what  an  escape!"  She 
held  out  her  hand  and  he  pressed  it  sympatheti- 
cally. Each  was  conscious  of  being  glad  that  the 
other  was  there. 

She  did  not  see  him  at  breakfast,  for  she  awoke 
early  and  "  hungry  as  a  bear,"  she  told  the  wait- 
ress, whom  she  inveigled  into  serving  her  while 
there  was  yet  no  one  in  the  dining-room.  To- 
gether they  prepared  a  tray  for  Aunt  Harriet,  and 
Eloise  carried  it  up-stairs. 

"Did  the  doctor  say  that  I  might  have  fish?" 
murmured  the  patient,  lifting  her  heavy  lids  to 
scrutinize  the  tray. 

"I  didn't  ask  him,"  confessed  her  niece. 


327 


Aunt  Harriet  resolutely  closed  her  eyes.  "  I 
shall  not  touch  a  mouthful  without  his  permis- 
sion," she  said. 

"Why,  auntie?" 

"Eloise !"  and  the  eyes  came  wide  open  with  a 
snap,  "that  man  saved  my  life,  and  I  shall  not  do 
one  thing  contrary  to  his  wishes." 

"  I  know  he  was  extremely  kind,  but  I  don't  see 
how  that  necessitates  your  fasting  until  he  tells  you 
to  eat,"  replied  Eloise,  impatient,  for  the  breakfast 
was  cooling.  She  set  it  down  with  a  thump. 

"Kind!"  repeated  Aunt  Harriet.  "He  pulled 
me  out  from  under  those  dreadful  hoofs" — she 
trembled  and  grew  white.  Eloise  bent  over  her. 

"There,  auntie,  don't  try  to  talk,"  she  said, 
soothingly.  "Don't  cry  !"  for  two  tears  had 
oozed  out  from  under  the  closed  eyelids.  "You 
may  do  just  as  you  please." 

"Eloise,"  said  Aunt  Harriet,  with  dignity,  " you 
disturb  me.  I  should  like  to  be  alone.  I  want  to 
give  myself  a  treatment."  With  a  smothered 
ejaculation,  Eloise  rushed  out  into  the  hall,  nearly 
tumbling  into  the  arms  of  Joey,  who  had  evident- 
ly been  meditating  a  siege. 

"I  didn't  know  whether  to  knock  or  no,"  he  said. 
"  You've  settled  the  question.  Have  you  had 
breakfast?  Don't  you  want  to  go  for  a  walk?" 

"  Want  to  go  ?  I'm  smothering  !"  cried  the  girl. 
"But  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  leave  Aunt  Har- 
riet— although  she  has  just  sent  me  away." 

Joey  shrugged  his  shoulders.    "I'll  rig  her  a 


328 


tocsin,  as  I  did  for  Uncle  Eli,  a  tin  pan  and  a  cane  ; 
it  would  wake  the  dead.  The  chambermaid  has 
promised  to  keep  an  eye  on  my  room  ;  that  leaves 
one  for  yours.  Come  on  !" 

Eloise  paused  irresolute.  "  Perhaps  we  had  bet- 
ter wait  and  ask  the  doctor,"  she  replied,  at  length. 

"By  the  way,"  cried  Joey,  "I  went  over  to  the 
Pavilion  and  hunted  up  his  record  last  night. 
He's  a  Keeleyite  or  the  next  thing  to  it ;  that  is 
why  he  is  so  at  home  with  nerves." 

"What  is  a  Keeleyite?"  she  inquired,  looking 
puzzled. 

"You  know,  the  Gold  Cure  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing — reforms  drunkards,  opium-eaters,  cigarette 
fiends.  He  has  a  lot  of  them  at  the  Pavilion,  in 
the  wing  of  the  house.  It  isn't  generally  known. 
I  wish  he  would  come.  Shall  I  go  after  him  ?" 
Joey  beat  a  tattoo  on  the  rail  of  the  balustrade 
against  which  they  were  leaning.  Eloise  herself 
chafed  at  the  delay.  When  one  is  young  and  full 
of  life  and  the  wind  blows  over  the  sea,  it  is  hard 
to  be  tied  to  a  dull  boarding-house  at  the  beck 
of  age  and  illness  ;  and  there  was  nothing  the 
matter  except  nerves — the  doctor  said  so. 

Through  the  hall  window  they  saw  him  com- 
ing at  last,  driving  a  lot  of  children  before  him 
as  a  collie  drives  a  flock  of  sheep.  Pie  had  routed 
them  out  of  their  clam-digging  and  sent  them 
home  for  dry  shoes  and  stockings.  They  bran- 
dished their  hooks  and  shouted  their  stories  at 
him  as  they  went. 


Others,  men  and  women,  stopped  him  all  along 
the  way.  "  He  will  never  get  here  !"  muttered 
Joey.  "I'm  going  down  to  hurry  him  along." 

They  came  up  together,  chatting  amiably,  but 
Joey  looked  glum.  "The  doctor  thinks,"  he  ex- 
plained to  Eloise,  after  the  usual  questions  con- 
cerning the  patient  had  been  asked  and  answered, 
"that  one  of  us  had  better  stay  here,  within 
reach  of  the  two  rooms  ;  so,  as  soon  as  he  has 
seen  Miss  Larrabee,  you'd  better  go.  I'll  have 
my  turn  later." 

The  doctor  was  already  in  Miss  Larrabee's 
room,  taking  her  pulse  and  her  temperature  as 
solicitously  as  if  his  life  as  well  as  hers  depended 
upon  the  result.  She  gave  him  a  long  detailed 
account  of  the  evening  and  the  morning,  includ- 
ing the  story  of  the  fish,  and  he  listened  as  the 
Sultan  listened  to  Scheherezade.  "  I  will  stop  in 
the  kitchen  and  order  some  broth,"  he  said,  in 
conclusion.  "  They  know  me  down  there  and  let 
me  take  all  sorts  of  liberties."  He  twisted  up 
some  powders  and  threw  them  on  the  table,  say- 
ing to  Eloise,  "  One  every  hour.  I'll  give  her 
one  now  ;  it's  nine  o'clock.  You  can  go,  but  be 
back  by  ten  ;  and  tell  Mr.  Norton  to  be  within 
call.  I'll  see  his  uncle  directly." 

Eloise  put  on  her  hat  and  left  the  room,  feeling 
like  a  child  sent  out  to  play.  She  gave  Joey  his 
message  and  was  soon  pacing  up  and  down  the 
hard  white  floor  of  the  beach. 

The  gloom  and  mystery  of  the  previous  night 


330 


had  vanished  ;  in  their  stead  reigned  gayety  and 
good-will.  The  yachts  were  racing  in  the  open 
space  outside  the  bay,  and  near  the  shore  row- 
boats  were  rocking  merrily.  Fishermen  cast- 
ing their  lines,  bathers  splashing  and  sprawling, 
youths  and  maidens  pitching  their  umbrellas  on 
the  sand  made  pictures  everywhere  against  the 
azure  and  chrysoprase  of  mated  sky  and  sea. 

"  I  must  unpack  my  brushes  !"  said  Eloise.  "I 
will  paint  that  gateway  of  cliff  for  one — it  leads 
to  the  end  of  the  world  ;  and  this  overturned 
hulk  for  another,  with  a  boy  diving  off  into  the 
sea,  where  the  boat  can  go  no  more  ;  I  will  paint — 
What  a  face !" 

Crouching  among  cushions,  in  a  niche  among 
the  rocks,  reclined  a  woman,  her  chin  on  her 
clenched  hand  and  her  elbow  on  her  knee.  Her 
profile  cut  the  dark  background  of  the  rock  with 
cameo-like  distinctness,  a  picture  of  despair  be- 
come indifference.  She  turned  as  Eloise  came  up, 
and  stared  at  her  out  of  great  cavernous  eyes, 
testifying  like  extinct  volcanoes  to  fires  which 
had  been.  The  girl  shuddered  with  vague  horror 
of  what  she  saw  —  not  mere  lines  and  furrows, 
scourge-marks  of  pain  and  strife  ;  faces  have 
borne  these  and  carried  with  them  the  look  of 
having  met  an  angel  in  the  way.  This  woman 
had  met  a  demon. 

"Good-morning,"  she  called  to  Eloise.  "How 
are  your  father  and  mother  after  their  accident  ?" 

"Is  she  crazy  ?"  thought  Eloise. 


331 


"They  were  lucky  to  get  off  with  their  lives," 
continued  the  woman.  "  I  saw  it  all  from  my  win- 
dow. Another  minute  and  the  horse  would  have 
been  right  on  top  of  them." 

"They  are  not  my  father  and  mother,"  said 
Eloise,  now  comprehending  her  meaning,  "  but 
my  aunt  and  Mr.  Norton's  uncle." 

"  They  told  me  it  was  your  father  and  mother," 
returned  the  woman,  "  and  I  haven't  had  a  chance 
to  speak  to  the  doctor  about  it.  You  ought  to 
have  seen  him  pull  them  out  of  the  way.  I  wanted 
to  throw  up  my  hat  and  give  three  cheers,  but  it 
was  too  far  for  him  to  hear  me." 

"Then  he  did  do  it !"  exclaimed  Eloise.  "My 
aunt  said  he  saved  her  life,  but  I  thought  she  did 
not  know  just  what  had  happened.  He  said  noth- 
ing." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  the  woman,  proudly. 
"  He  never  does  say  anything.  He  makes  as  light 
of  saving  a  life  as  another  man  would  of  eating 
his  dinner.  You've  got  to  know  him — but  you 
never  will  unless  he  has  to  do  something  for  you. 
We  were  brought  up  side  by  side,  but  I  never 
knew  him  until  lately." 

"I  have  heard  that  he  belongs  to  a — a — life- 
saving  station,"  said  Eloise,  delicately. 

"  That's  the  way  to  put  it !"  cried  the  woman, 
her  eyes  flashing  like  wet  steel.  "Most  people 
speak  of  what  he  is  doing  as  if  it  was  something 
to  be  ashamed  of.  I  don't  care  who  knows  that  I 
am  one  of  them." 


332 


Through  the  ruin  of  her  faded  face  flushed  the 
glow  of  former  beauty.  All  the  artist  in  Eloise 
awoke,  and  something  more  than  the  artist  awoke 
also.  "  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  about  him,"  she 
said.  "  May  I  sit  down  beside  you  ?" 

"  Do  !"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  making  room 
among  the  cushions.  "  I'm  only  too  glad  to  find 
some  one  who  likes  to  hear  about  him.  There's 
no  one  like  him  on  this  earth.  Others  do  good 
occasionally,  but  he  is  the  only  one  I  ever  saw 
who  does  it  all  the  time  for  the  love  of  it.  He 
has  a  perfect  passion  for  saving  people." 

"Has  he  always  done  this  —  this  work?"  in- 
quired Eloise. 

"Well,  now,  that's  a  long  story,"  replied  the 
stranger.  "  I  don't  know's  I  ought  to  tell  you, 
but  you  seem  so  interested.  It  isn't  any  secret 
out  our  way,  and  people  don't  think  any  the  less 
of  him,  but  it's  different  here." 

"  I  don't  belong  here,  said  Eloise,  quickly. 

"  It  was  this  way,"  began  the  story-teller,  who 
was  not  hard  to  persuade.  "  He  started  in  to  prac- 
tise in  his  own  town,  where  every  one  knew  him. 
Every  one  liked  him,  too.  It  was  Dr.  Jerry  Dow 
here,  there,  and  everywhere.  His  name's  Gerard 
— Dutch,  I  believe.  After  a  while  he  went  East 
and  got  married  and  brought  his  wife  home."  She 
paused  and  pursed  up  her  lips.  "  The  less  said 
about  Mrs.  Dow  the  better.  He  was  awfully  good 
to  her — you  might  know  he  would  be — but  noth- 
ing suited.  Finally,  after  her  child  was  born,  she 


333 


went  off  East  and  that  was  the  last  of  her.  He 
wrote  and  wrote,  and  then  he  went  after  her  ;  but 
he  came  back  alone.  Then  he  took  to  drink. 
Folks  said  Dr.  Jerry  Dow  was  going  downhill 
fast.  Even  then  he  never  neglected  his  patients. 
When  he  hadn't  any  head  for  other  things,  he'd 
know  what  he  was  about  with  them.  They  thought 
so  much  of  him  they'd  wait  for  him  to  get  over 
a  spree  rather  than  go  to  any  one  else.  I've  seen 
horses  and  carriages  tied  at  his  door  and  away 
down  the  street — you'd  think  it  was  a  country 
meeting-house  or  a  funeral — waiting  for  him  to 
sober  off.  All  at  once  he  turned  square  around  and 
reformed.  No  one  knew  how.  He  experimented 
on  himself,  I  suppose.  Then  he  experimented  on 
those  who  came  to  see  how  he  did  it." 

"  How  does  he  do  it  ?"  interrupted  Eloise. 

"  I  don't  know.  He  doesn't  give  much  medicine, 
but  you  feel  the  minute  he  takes  hold  of  you  that 
you're  all  right.  Other  doctors  stand  off  and  tell 
you  what  to  do.  He  wades  right  in  after  you,  up 
to  his  neck,  and  pulls  you  out  in  spite  of  yourself 
—I  can't  tell  you  !" 

"  You  have  told  me  a  great  deal,"  said  Eloise, 
rising.  "I  cannot  thank  you  enough.  I  shall 
hold  it  sacred." 

"And  you  don't  think  any  the  less  of  him?" 
inquired  the  woman,  anxiously. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  any  the  less  of  him,"  repeat- 
ed Eloise.  She  stood  looking  out  over  the  restless 
waves,  with  a  strange  hushed  feeling  new  to  her. 


334 


"  May  I  come  and  talk  with  you  again  ?"  she 
asked,  gently,  offering  her  hand  in  farewell. 

"  I  wish  you  would  !"  exclaimed  the  woman, 
eagerly.  "  I'm  alone  a  good  deal,  and  I  don't  enjoy 
thinking  as  much  as  some  folks  do.  I  have  too 
much  to  think  about."  She  laughed,  an  hysterical 
laugh  without  any  mirth  in  it. 


XXXIII 

As  Dr.  Dow  had  prophesied,  Aunt  Harriet  and 
Uncle  Eli  recovered  rapidly.  After  a  day  or  two 
of  seclusion  they  reappeared  on  the  beach,  sit- 
ting in  their  steamer-chairs,  with  their  umbrellas 
spread. 

They  were  objects  of  interest  to  their  fellow- 
boarders,  who  wove  endless  romances  about  the 
grave  elderly  man  and  the  vivacious  elderly 
woman  who  seemed  never  to  tire  of  each  other's 
society. 

"  Look  at  him  now,  as  he  leans  forward  to  speak 
to  her ;  he  thinks  she's  too  sweet  for  anything," 
said  Mrs.  O'Keefe. 

"  And  look  at  her,  how  she  listens  to  him ;  she 
thinks  he  knows  it  all,"  said  Mrs.  Tyler. 

"  I  wish  we  were  near  enough  to  hear  what  they 
say,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  O'Keefe. 

She  would  have  been  sadly  disappointed.  Uncle 
Eli  had  declared,  "  This  is  the  first  time  in  weeks 
that  I've  been  able  to  get  rid  of  a  belief  in  head- 
ache ;"  and  Aunt  Harriet's  glance  was  one  of  con- 
gratulation, nothing  more. 

"  Have  you  said  anything  to  Dr.  Dow  about  The 
Science?"  she  inquired. 


"  Not  very  much,"  replied  the  old  man,  guard- 
edly. 

"  I  have,"  said  the  impulsive  little  woman  be- 
side him.  "I  told  him  it  was  all  he  needed." 

"  What  did  he  say  ?" 

"  He  said  he  didn't  doubt  it  had  done  me  good." 
Again  they  exchanged  sympathetic  glances. 

"  Just  look  at  them,"  said  Mrs.  O'Keefe  to  her 
companion.  "  They're  ready  to  eat  one  another  up." 

"  Joey  says  the  doctor  has  some  kind  of  a  hos- 
pital or  sanitarium  for  nervous  troubles,"  re- 
marked Uncle  Eli. 

"  So  Eloise  told  me." 

"Just  think  how  The  Science  would  help  him 
in  that !"  and  she  clasped  her  hands  with  a  devout 
look  up  into  the  sky. 

"  She's  got  it  bad,"  said  Mrs.  O'Keefe. 

"I  was  afraid  Eloise  would  take  a  prejudice 
against  him,"  sighed  Aunt  Harriet.  "  His  Eng- 
lish is  rather  queer,  and  Eloise  is  so  fastidious. 
The  first  summer  we  were  both  at  a  Summer 
School  she  was  frantic  over  the  speech  and  the 
manner  of  the  people  we  met.  But  she  has  really 
gone  out  of  her  way  to  be  kind  to  him.  There 
she  is  now,  talking  to  him,  down  there  by  the 
water." 

"  I  wonder  where  Joey  is,"  mused  Uncle  Eli. 
So  did  Mrs.  O'Keefe.  "  This  isn't  the  first  time 
the  girl  has  given  Norton  the  slip  and  gone  off 
with  the  doctor,"  she  declared.  And  for  once  Mrs. 
O'Keefe  was  right. 


337 


Several  days  elapsed  before  Aunt  Harriet  no- 
ticed anything  unusual ;  but,  after  her  attention 
had  been  called  to  what  was  going  on,  she  became 
suspicious,  the  accused  was  already  convicted  and 
awaiting  execution.  With  a  look  of  solemn  de- 
termination on  her  face,  such  as  it  had  not  worn 
since  she  burned  her  medicines,  she  mounted  the 
stairs  to  the  attic  room  which  Eloise  had  adapted 
to  her  work. 

"  Come  in  !"  called  the  ringing  voice  of  her 
niece  in  response  to  an  energetic  knock.  "Oh, 
it's  you,  is  it,  auntie  !  Sit  down.  I'll  be  where  I 
can  talk  to  you  in  a  minute." 

Aunt  Harriet  placed  herself  on  the  edge  of  a 
chair  containing  a  jar  of  goldenrod  and  waited, 
putting  up  her  eye-glass  to  scrutinize  the  room. 
It  was  under  the  bare  ridge-pole  of  the  Glenallan, 
and  there  were  no  draperies  save  those  the  spiders 
had  wrought,  but  the  light  was  good  and  the  art- 
ist was  happy. 

She  laid  down  her  brush  at  last  and  turned  to 
her  visitor.  "  Did  you  have  something  in  partic- 
ular to  say  to  me  ?"  she  asked,  for  Aunt  Harriet 
had  never  been  in  the  attic  room  before. 

"Yes,  I  have  something  very  particular,"  re- 
plied the  little  woman,  nestling  back  against  the 
goldenrod  and  nestling  forward  again  when  it 
tickled  her  neck.  There  were  only  two  chairs  in 
the  room.  "Eloise,  I  have  been  talking  with  Mrs. 
O'Keefe,  and  I  am  much  disturbed." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be,"  returned  her 


338 


niece.  "I  was  in  hopes  you'd  let  that  sort  of 
people  alone  here." 

"  Eloise  !"  exclaimed  Aunt  Harriet,  with  sever- 
ity, "the  woman  came  to  me  out  of  the  goodness 
of  her  heart,  because  she  thought  I  ought  to  know 
how  imprudent  you  are." 

"I,  imprudent?"  inquired  the  girl,  with  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes,  imprudent,  taking  long  walks  every  day 
with  a  stranger,"  cried  her  aunt. 

"That  man  saved  my  life,  and  I  shall  not  eat  a 
piece  of  boiled  cod  without  his  permission,"  mim- 
icked Eloise. 

Aunt  Harriet  looked  disconcerted,  but  she  had 
a  mission  to  the  fatherless  and  motherless  girl 
before  her,  and  she  nerved  herself  to  perform  it. 
"I  have  nothing  against  Dr.  Dow,"  she  said,  with 
dignity.  "  He  is  well  enough  in  his  proper  place." 

"  Dragging  women  from  under  the  heels  of  run- 
away horses,  for  instance,"  returned  Eloise. 

Aunt  Harriet  flushed.  "  I  think  I  am  as  grate- 
ful to  Dr.  Dow  as  you  are,"  she  said,  quickly ; 
"  but  one  is  not  obliged  to  marry  every  man  one 
is  grateful  to." 

Eloise  laughed  outright. 

Aunt  Harriet  looked  grave.  "  This  is  a  serious 
matter,  Eloise.  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you.  I  do 
not  believe  in  discussing  such  subjects  with  young 
girls,  but  you  drive  me  to  it.  Dr.  Dow  is — is  a 
married  man,  and  has  a  partial  divorce  from  his 
wife  and  child." 


339 


"  It  is  a  complete  divorce,  auntie ;  the  wife  and 
child  are  dead." 

Aunt  Harriet  did  not  know  what  to  say.  She 
had  played  her  last  card  and  Eloise  had  taken  it. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  throw  herself  on 
the  generosity  of  the  young  woman  whom  she 
was  trying  to  influence.  "  Eloise,"  she  cried,  tear- 
fully, "  it  will  break  my  heart  if  you  do  not  marry 
well.  People  never  forgive  you  for  that  sort  of 
thing  ;  they  will  forgive  everything  else,  but  they 
always  feel,  if  you  marry  badly,  that  you  brought 
it  on  yourself." 

"  Who  talks  of  marrying  ?"  demanded  Eloise, 
witli  a  frown.  "Can  I  not  find  help  and  strength 
in  the  companionship  of  a  noble  soul  without  this 
everlasting  question  of  marrying  being  brought 
in  ?  Oh,  Aunt  Harriet !"  she  sprang  from  her 
chair  and  confronted  the  little  figure  with  its 
background  of  goldenrod,  "can't  you  see?  Why 
did  you  go  to  those  people  who  helped  you? 
Why  did  you  mourn  so  when  you  had  to  give 
them  up?  Because  life  was  too  much  for  you. 
It  is  too  much  for  me.  I  must  have  help,  counsel, 
strength.  This  man  gives  them  to  me.  I  can't 
have  your  blind  faith,  but  through  the  charity 
which  he  has  taught  me  I  get  something  to  take 
the  place  of  faith,  something  we  have  been  told 
'  never  faileth,'  and  faith  does  fail,  you  know  it 
does." 

In  her  imperious  defiance  she  towered  above 
the  small,  slight  woman,  who  shrank  beneath  the 


340 


words  as  if  they  had  been  blows,  and  slid  out 
from  under  them  as  soon  as  she  could. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  say  there's  nothing  between 
you,  I  believe  it,  Eloise,"  she  said.  "  But  after 
you  had  refused  such  fine-looking  men — and,  say 
what  you  please,  you  do  want  some  one  you  can 
introduce  to  your  friends  and  be  proud  of."  She 
moved  towards  the  door  and  looked  back  as  she 
reached  it.  "  You're  all  I  have,"  she  faltered,  and 
her  lip  began  to  quiver. 

Eloise  went  to  her.  "  Don't  worry,  dear,"  she 
said,  and  took  the  little  creature  in  her  arms. 
"  You  are  all  I  have,  too."  She  kissed  the  quiv- 
ering lips  into  composure.  "  Don't  worry,  dear," 
she  repeated. 

"  I  won't  again,"  Aunt  Harriet  ansAvered,  and 
went  down  the  stairs  with  a  lighter  heart  than 
she  had  carried  for  many  a  day.  It  was  such 
a  relief  not  to  feel  obliged  to  take  care  of  Eloise, 
and  so  pleasant  to  feel  that  Eloise  took  care  of 
her. 

Once  more  alone,  the  artist  returned  to  her  easel. 
The  tolerant  tenderness,  which  had  survived  irri- 
tation and  amusement  in  the  recent  interview, 
lingered  and  filled  her  with  its  glow. 

"  I  am  getting  to  be  willing  to  let  even  Aunt 
Harriet  be  herself,"  she  mused.  "  Perhaps  I  shall 
gain  the  true  artist  feeling  after  a  while,  with  its 
insight  into  the  nature  of  things  and  patience  with 
what  it  finds  there." 

Dreamily  she  touched  up  the  picture  before  her 


341 


with  deliberate,  delicate  strokes,  wondering  when 
she  had  felt  so  secure  and  strong  before. 

A  sound  of  voices  from  the  yard  below  broke 
in  upon  her  reverie. 

"  Hullo  !  where  did  you  drop  from  ?"  in  Joey's 
unmistakable  drawl. 

"  From  New  York.  '  I'm  never  anywhere  else,' 
as  you  said  once  upon  a  time."  That  was  Mark  Hef- 
fron.  "You  are  to  go  on  to  New  York  to- 
night," he  continued.  "Pm  doing  the  relief  act 
now." 

Then  they  mounted  the  steps  of  the  piazza  and 
all  the  listener  heard  was  "  never  getting  over  a 
thing,"  from  Joey,  and  "  a  scaly  trick,"  from  Mark ; 
but  this  was  enough  to  convince  her  Joey  had  told 
the  truth  about  Mark's  leaving  Chicago  against 
his  will.  What  of  that  ?  Mark  Heffron  was  noth- 
ing to  her. 

Yet  she  dressed  carefully  before  she  went  down 
to  luncheon,  as  a  girl  sometimes  will  for  a  man 
who  is  nothing  to  her. 

Mark  and  Joey  were  waiting  in  the  lower  hall, 
when  she  came  down  the  stairs  with  Aunt  Har- 
riet leaning  on  her  arm. 

"  Uncle  Eli  has  gone  in,"  said  Joey,  after  greet- 
ings had  been  exchanged.  "  I've  arranged  for  this 
chap  to  take  the  corner  seat  until  after  dinner; 
then  I  suppose  he'll  have  my  place." 

"Hear  the  hospitable  ring  in  his  voice!"  ex- 
claimed Mark,  whose  spirits  seemed  to  rise  as 
Joey's  fell. 


342 


"  Of  course  he  dislikes  to  leave  his  uncle,"  re- 
turned Eloise. 

Joey  acknowledged  her  championship  with  a 
grateful  glance. 

"I'll  look  out  for  Uncle  Eli,"  promised  Mark, 
and  began  at  once  to  take  the  old  man  under  his 
genial  patronage. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon  ?" 
asked  Joey  in  low  tones  of  Eloise,  while  Uncle 
Eli  and  his  new  cicerone  entertained  each  other. 

"  By  the  way,  Joey,  your  train  goes  at  four," 
called  out  Mark  from  the  corner  seat. 

"  I'm  not  going  on  that  train,"  replied  Joey,  de- 
fiantly, "I  can't  get  ready." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  can.  I'll  pack  for  you,"  cried  Mark. 
"  One  good  turn  deserves  another." 

"  And  I  have  some  other  things  to  attend  to," 
said  Joey,  scowling. 

"  I'll  attend  to  them,"  responded  Mark,  cordially. 
"  Mail  your  letters,  deliver  your  messages — every- 
thing. You'll  really  have  to  go,  Joey.  I  prom- 
ised the  Firm  you'd  be  there,  and  '  they  have  such 
faith  in  us  both.'  Uncle  Eli  will  get  along  all 
right  with  me." 

"Yes,  yes,"  urged  the  old  man.  "Don't  stay 
on  my  account.  Mark  will  take  care  of  me." 

Joey  sulkily  submitted,  and  uttered  his  farewells 
at  the  door  of  the  dining-room. 

"But  I  shall  see  you  again  in  Chicago  this  win- 
ter?" asked  Eloise,with  more  than  her  usual  friend- 
liness, because  of  Mark's  teasing. 


343 


"  I  hope  so,"  he  answered,  dejectedly,  and  fol- 
lowed Mark  upstairs. 

"  Sit  down  and  write  your  letters  while  I  pack 
your  trunk,"  urged  the  exasperating  fellow.  "I'll 
deliver  them.  You  know  '  there's  nothing  like 
a  personal  interview.' " 

"  Come,  that's  enough,"  growled  Joey.  "  There's 
no  use  in  running  a  joke  into  the  ground." 

"  Who  said  anything  about  a  joke  ?"  inquired 
Mark.  "  I'm  in  dead  earnest — and  I  half  believe 
you  are." 

Joey  made  no  reply,  but  proceeded  with  his 
packing,  refusing  all  offers  of  assistance. 

There  was  no  time  to  spare.  By  the  time  the 
trunks  and  bags  were  ready  and  the  expressman 
had  been  summoned,  the  suburban  train  for  Bos- 
ton was  nearly  due.  They  struck  off  across  the 
fields  to  the  station,  Uncle  Eli  and  Aunt  Harriet 
waving  them  good-bye  from  the  piazza.  Eloise 
had  gone  for  a  walk. 

"There  she  is  now,"  said  Joey,  pointing  to  the 
high  bluff  by  the  shore,where  a  slender,  graceful 
figure  stood  outlined  against  the  sky.  Another 
figure  accompanied  it. 

"  Who  is  that  man?"  inquired  Mark,  sharply. 

"That  is  Miss  Gordon's  dearest  friend,"  replied 
Joey,  with  malicious  satisfaction.  "You've  been 
barking  up  the  wrong  tree,  Mark.  He's  the  one." 


XXXIV 

WHAT  Mark  saw  of  Eloise  Gordon  and  Dr. 
Dow  went  to  confirm  Joey's  statement.  Hardly 
a  day  passed  without  finding  them  together,  and 
so  open  was  their  preference,  so  frank  their  good- 
fellowship,  that  they  ceased  to  be  considered  by 
the  People  in  the  House.  The  doctor's  patients 
also  were  privileged  to  make  demands  upon  Miss 
Gordon's  time  and  sympathy.  Mark  met  them 
coming  and  going  to  and  from  the  studio,  pale, 
hollow-eyed  women  and  a  dilapidated  man  or  two. 
He  asked  her  if  she  was  painting  a  Last  Judg- 
ment and  if  these  were  the  "goats."  She  did 
not  frown,  as  he  anticipated,  but  replied,  good- 
humoredly,  that  they  were  friends  of  hers. 

"Then  you  do  have  friends  who  come  to  the 
studio?" 

"  Why,  yes  ;  do  you  want  to  come  ?"  she  re- 
turned. "You  may,  of  course.  Wait,  I  am  fin- 
ishing something  I  should  like  you  to  see  ;  wait 
four  days." 

He  waited  impatiently.  The  days  were  long 
and  dull.  There  was  little  to  do  for  Mr.  Norton 
except  to  talk  of  the  Science ;  when  this  became 
a  bore,  Mark  dodged.  Then  the  old  man  went 


345 


back  to  Miss  Larrabee,  the  steamer-chairs,  and 
the  umbrellas. 

The  rest  of  Point  Carey  resolved  itself  into  a 
nursery  during  the  day,  when  the  men  had  gone 
to  town,  and  into  a  ballroom  at  night,  when  they 
returned. 

The  patrons  of  the  place  were  chiefly  well-to- 
do,  commonplace,  young  married  people  who  en- 
joyed themselves,  each  other,  and  their  children, 
to  the  utter  disregard  of  unsympathetic  bystand- 
ers. Mark  moped  about  the  piazza  with  a  novel 
and  a  cigar,  took  long,  solitary  walks,  and  de- 
cided that  he  had  not  bettered  his  material  condi- 
tion by  stepping  into  Joe  Norton's  shoes. 

Evenings  were  devoted  to  Miss  Larrabee  and 
Mr.  Norton,  who  believed  a  rubber  of  whist  was 
good  to  take  at  night.  They  always  played  to- 
gether, and  Mark  played  with  Eloise.  The  silent 
alliance,  offensive  and  defensive,  the  pertinent 
language  of  eye  and  hand,  afforded  opportunities 
of  a  kind.  He  studied  her  face,  the  clear  hazel 
eyes,  with  their  border  of  black  lashes,  the  fine 
arch  of  the  brow,  the  delicate  nose  and  firm, 
sweet  mouth.  Once  or  twice  he  realized  that  she 
was  studying  him.  He  had  meant,  when  he  came, 
to  explain  his  abrupt  departure  from  Chicago, 
but  somehow  the  occasion  seemed  lacking. 

The  four  days  lengthened  into  eight,  and  still 
he  did  not  receive  his  summons  to  the  studio. 

"  I  believe  that  picture  is  a  myth,"  he  said,  one 
night,  as  she  gathered  up  the  cards  and  prepared 


346 


to  follow  Miss  Larrabee,  "  or  else  you  do  not  mean 
me  to  see  it." 

"It  is  not  a  myth,"  she  answered,  quickly, 
"  and  I  do  want  you  to  see  it.  Every  day  I  have 
thought  I  could  send  for  you,  and  then  I  became 
dissatisfied  with  my  work  and  went  back  to  it." 
She  paused  and  sighed.  "  Inspiration  is  so  brief, 
yet  the  following  it  out  takes  so  long."  She 
moved  towards  the  door.  There  was  no  one  in 
the  parlor  but  themselves. 

"  Why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry  ?"  he  asked. 
"Sit  down  and  talk  to  me." 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  must  be  at  work 
early  ;  the  light  is  best  then.  Perhaps  I  can  send 
for  you  some  time  during  the  morning." 

"I  shall  go  back  to  Chicago  if  you  don't,"  he 
threatened. 

He  lingered  about  the  piazza  all  the  following 
forenoon,  and  went  to  luncheon  resolved  to  pack 
the  trunks  and  the  steamer-chair  and  to  start  with 
Uncle  Eli  without  delay.  Miss  Gordon  did  not 
appear.  "  I  carried  a  glass  of  milk  to  the  studio," 
said  Miss  Larrabee  ;  "  that  was  all  she  wanted." 

Mark  took  his  book  and  retired  to  a  shady  cor- 
ner of  the  piazza.  The  Glenallan  was  very  quiet. 
The  children  and  their  mammas  were  taking  af- 
ternoon naps.  There  was  no  sound  save  the  tink- 
ling bell  of  the  baker's  cart  and  the  far-off  rumble 
of  the  sea. 

"  Mr.  Heffron,"  called  an  eager  voice,  "  if  you 
will  come  now  !"  and  Eloise  herself  stood  before 


347 


him,  still  in  her  brown  Holland  apron,  and  with 
her  fair  hair  in  confusion  about  her  heated  cheeks. 
She  led  him  up  the  stairs  to  the  attic  room  where 
bars  of  yellow  afternoon  sunlight  lay  along  the 
floor. 

"  I  couldn't  stop  until  I  finished  it,"  she  said. 

Upon  the  easel  lay  a  large  canvas,  familiar  and 
yet  new,  the  scene  of  the  wreck  she  had  tried  to 
paint  in  Chicago.  He  looked  at  it  long  and  ear- 
nestly, and  then  he  looked  at  her. 

"I  meant  it  this  time,"  she  said,  softly.  "I 
have  clung  to  the  masts  until  my  fingers  were 
stiff ;  I  have  thrown  that  rope  until  my  arm 
ached  ;  I  have  fought  those  waves  and  feared  and 
dreaded  them  ;  and  I  have  shouted  myself  hoarse 
over  every  man  who  came  ashore." 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  her  cheeks  ;  she 
wiped  them  away  with  the  dingy  apron. 

"  I  suppose  I'm  all  paint  and  everything,"  she 
exclaimed  between  a  sob  and  a  laugh,  "  but  I 
don't  care.  '  He  that  saveth  his  life  shall  lose  it ' 
in  Art ;  I've  found  that  out."  She  took  off  the 
apron  and  tossed  it  into  a  corner.  "This  is  the 
nearest  approach  I  can  make  to  a  toilet,"  she 
said,  smoothing  the  folds  of  her  light  summer 
gown. 

"  You  seem  to  have  found  out  a  great  many 
things  all  at  once,"  Mark  returned,  "methods  and 
material,  yourself,  and  your  fellow  -  beings.  I 
have  fancied  you  were  finding  me  out  of  late." 

"  I  do  understand  you  better  than  I  did,"  she 


348 


confessed,  with  a  friendly  glance.  "I  used  to 
think  you  laughed  because  you  didn't  care  ;  now 
I  know  it  is  because  you  do,  only — " 

"What  is  it?    Go  on,"  he  urged. 

"Oh,  it  is  a  shame!"  she  cried.  "So  few  of  us 
can  see  any  order,  any  solution  of  the  problems, 
and  you  do  see  ;  but  you  won't  assume  the  re- 
sponsibility of  it,  or — or  the  burden  of  your  in- 
fluence." She  had  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap 
and  was  regarding  him  earnestly. 

"  In  other  words,  I  am  a  coward  and  a  shirk," 
he  said,  with  a  look  that  pierced  like  a  lance. 

"  You  don't  go  far  enough  for  that,"  she  cried, 
determined  not  to  retreat.  "You  have  no  con- 
victions to  be  untrue  to." 

"  Thank  God  for  that !"  he  exclaimed.  "  There 
is  nothing  that  limits  like  a  conviction." 

She  did  not  reply,  save  by  that  direct,  serious 
gaze,  yet  all  at  once  his  manner  changed. 

"Eloise,"  he  said,  gravely,  "it  is  myself  that  I 
do  not  believe  in.  I  need  some  one  to  believe  in 
me  to  make  me  believe  in  myself." 

Still  she  made  no  answer,  but  sat  and  looked  at 
him  until  she  saw  nothing  else,  and  he  seemed  far 
away,  his  voice  sounded  indistinctly  in  her  ears  ; 
but  as  he  started  to  come  towards  her  she 
aroused. 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried  ;  "  it  is  too  late  !" 

"  Why  is  it  too  late  ?"  he  demanded.  "Do  you 
think  because  you  have  felt  this"  pointing  to  the 
picture,  "  that  there  is  nothing  more  ?  You  have 


349 


lived  in  only  a  part  of  yourself.  You  needn't  go 
into  a  convent  because  you  have  realized  the  bond 
of  brotherhood." 

"I  have  no  idea  of  going  into  a  convent,"  she 
answered,  sore  at  his  misinterpretation. 

"  Then  it  is  that  fanatic  doctor,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  with  his  deep-sea  dredge,  grubbing  after  refuse 
and  dragging  it  back  into  a  world  well  rid  of  it. 
Who  is  he,  anyway,  to  play  at  being  Providence 
and  interfere  with  the  laws  of  nature  ?" 

"He  is  the  first  reality  I  have  met,"  she  an- 
swered, on  the  defensive  at  once.  "  You  and  Mr. 
Norton  say  fine  things,  but  he  does  them.  He 
has  helped  me  as  much  as  he  ever  did  the  *  refuse.' 
You  yourself  did  not  care  for  me  until  he  taught 
me  self-reliance  and — and  charity.  Whatever  I 
am  I  owe  to  him."  She  stood  up,  defying  him, 
and  he  brought  all  the  batteries  of  his  fierce  desire 
to  bear  upon  her  in  vain;  another  man  stood  be- 
tween them,  a  small,  insignificant  man, with  haunt- 
ing, helpful  hands,  and  a  voice  with  a  note  of 
loneliness  in  its  music. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  he  said,  more  gently. 
"  You  had  it  in  you ;  circumstances  would  have 
developed  it.  And  I  have  cared  all  along.  Why 
else  did  I  compare  every  one  I  met  with  you  and  feel 
so  uncomfortable  when  you  were  displeased,  and 
dump  out  poor  Joey,  neck  and  heels,  that  I  might 
have  his  place?"  He  was  relaxing  his  gravity;  at 
sight  of  this  her  own  increased. 

"I  am  a  special  dispensation  to  keep  you  from 


850 


Philistinism,"  he  said,  lightly.  "You  will  bring 
up  in  the  Bible  Society,  doing  borders  for  Sunday- 
school  books,  if  I  don't  save  you." 

"The  responsibility  is  not  yours  now,"  she 
answered,  coldly.  "  It  is  mine." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  he  returned  ;  "  it  is 
yours  for  both  of  us.  You  say  I  ought  to  be  differ- 
ent, to  live  up  to  my  possibilities.  Make  me  what 
you  choose."  He  was  smiling  at  her  as  only  Mark 
could  smile,  and  speaking  pleadingly.  His  very 
winsomeness  told  against  him  with  her. 

"  Oh,  that  plausible  tongue  of  yours  !"  she  cried. 
"  It  makes  me  distrust  everything  you  say.  I  am 
not  the  Eloise  Gordon  who  believed  in  you.  I 
have  got  over  that." 

He  turned  to  the  picture  with  a  sneer.  "Those 
things  are  so  much  easier  to  do  with  paint  and 
canvas,"  he  said,  mockingly.  "  In  real  life  we  look 
out  for  ourselves  and  avoid  disturbing  emo- 
tions." 

He  turned  to  go,  then,  looking  back,  saw  some- 
thing in  her  face  which  made  him  pause. 

"  You  have  not  got  over  it ;  you  do  care !"  he 
exclaimed,  coming  to  her  side. 

"  Did  any  one  who  once  cared  for  you  ever  get 
over  it?"  she  returned,  passionately  ;  then  her  will, 
like  a  sword  stroke,  severed  them.  "  I  choose  not 
to  care  !"  she  said,  proudly. 

He  bowed  with  silent  dignity  and  left  the  room. 
She  heard  his  footsteps  on  the  stairs  and  on  the 
gravel  walk,  and  she  saw  him  hurrying  towards 


351 


the  shore,  as  if  driven  by  the  Spirit  into  the  wilder- 
ness. 

The  shadows  were  lengthening  on  the  floor,  and 
the  coolness  of  the  breeze  which  came  in  at  the 
window  told  that  night  was  near.  Still  the  picture 
on  the  easel  stood  out  with  insistent  brightness, 
whenever  she  looked  that  way.  The  reaction  of 
her  joy  in  it  had  come  upon  her,  hastened  by  the 
storm  in  her  breast,  cheapening  and  distorting  its 
painted  parody. 

How  much  went  into  how  little,  after  all !  The 
experiences  which  were  to  make  her  a  great  artist, 
the  facing  of  facts,  the  telling  herself  truths  about 
them,  the  courage,  the  patience,  were  they  not  for 
the  sake  of  art,  but  just  a  mere  matter  of  living  ? 
Was  art  to  show  what  life  is,  not  what  it  may  be- 
come? Then  what  is  life's  revenge,  in  terms  of 
art,  upon  a  woman  who  kills  her  love  because 
of  her  pride,  because  of  her  fear,  because  of 
her  selfish  protection  of  what  may  be  value- 
less? 

The  shadows  had  lengthened  and  deepened  until 
they  filled  the  room.  The  velvety  darkness  smoth- 
ered her.  She  covered  herself  with  a  cloak,  and 
swift  and  silent  as  a  shadow  slid  down  the  ser- 
vants' stairway  and  out  of  doors. 

The  night  was  gay  with  stars  and  there  was  a 
brave  young  moon  ;  by  their  light  she  found  her 
way  to  the  shore  and  hid  herself  among  the  rocks. 
The  sea  came  up  almost  to  her  feet,  the  unfathom- 
able sea  which  she  dreaded,  the  cold,  remote,  un- 


352 


friendly  sea  which  she  hated  ;  but  she  listened  to 
it  now. 

"  If  I  yield,  then  he  will  not  care,"  she  said 
to  it.  "  My  power  over  him  is  in  my  resistance 
to  his  power  over  me.  How  can  I  give  without 
giving,  how  can  he  have  and  not  hold." 

And  the  gray  old  sea  told  her  the  secret  of  Circe 
and  Calypso,  who  gave  without  giving,  whom  men 
had  but  could  not  hold?" 

"  That  is  not  what  I  mean,"  she  replied.  "  There 
must  be  another  way,  or  Life  is  cruel.  What  is 
Life's  answer  to  the  puzzle  she  offers  ?"  But  the 
sea  went  on  with  its  purring  and  said  no  more, 
for  the  sea  is  a  pagan. 

Helpless  and  empty  and  desolate,  she  looked  up 
into  the  sky,  as  human  beings  are  wont  to  do, 
when  everything  has  failed  below.  A  long  cloud 
lay  like  a  roof  above  the  horizon  and  under  its 
eaves  hung  a  star. 

At  once  everything  changed  ;  she  was  in  the 
little  room  at  the  Lake  View,  with  Aunt  Harriet 
breathing  softly  in  the  bed,  and  Mark  Heffron 
starting  up  to  question  her  with  his  brilliant  dark 
eyes. 

She  was  stronger  than  he,  and  he  knew  it.  She 
dared  to  be  stronger,  for  her  power  was  the  power 
of  the  universe.  This,  then,  was  the  heart  of  the 
mystery  plucked  out  and  held  up  before  her ;  the 
mystery  which  men  sought  when  they  hollowed 
their  temples  and  crept  into  them,  when  they  wor- 
shipped the  seed,  the  earth  that  produces  and  sus- 


353 


tains  ;  the  mystery  which  puts  the  apple  of  temp- 
tation into  the  hand  of  Eve,  and  the  babe  of 
redemption  into  the  arms  of  Mary,  and  holds  the 
woman  accountable  for  more  than  her  own  weak- 
ness and  lack  of  wisdom. 

Hark,  there  were  footsteps  coming  !  She  heard 
them  above  the  rustling  sound  which  told  the  wind 
had  found  the  few  leaves  on  the  shore  ;  and  she 
stood  up,  waiting.  Slowly  and  heavily  he  came 
on,  not  noticing  her,  for  his  head  was  down. 
Suddenly  he  looked  up.  Her  cloak  fell  off  like 
a  calyx,  and  she  blossomed  before  him,  a  lily, 
slender,  straight,  and  fair. 

With  a  low,  glad  cry  he  sprang  towards  her, 
then  stopped  and  flung  out  both  hands  in  eager 
protestation.  "  Before  God,  I  did  not  bring  you 
here  !"  he  exclaimed.  "This  is  not  my  doing." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  answered ;  "  I  choose  to  be 
here." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of  her 
•words.  A  sudden  sense  of  his  own  unworthiuess 
smote  him. 

"  Eloise,"  he  said,  humbly,  "  there  are  other 
things.  If  that  coat  doesn't  fit,  there  are  others 
which  stick  like  the  shirt  of  Nessus." 

"  I  know,"  she  said,  gently. 

"  But  you  don't  know,"  he  returned, with  a  laugh 
which  was  more  grave  than  a  sigh  would  have 
been  from  him.  "I  have  a  devil,  Eloise." 

"Most  people  have,"  she  answered,  softly,  "and 
an  angel,  too." 

23 


354 


He  drew  nearer,  and  touched  with  remote  rev- 
erence a  straying  tress  of  her  hair. 

"  Oh,  you  teaman/"  he  whispered.  Even  then  the 
image  of  another  stood  between  them,  the  image 
of  him  who  had  taught  her  what  it  was  to  be  a 
woman  and  how  to  win  a  man's  love.  She  shivered 
as  one  does  when  Fates  and  Destinies  stand  out 
for  the  moment's  recognition; 

He  lifted  her  heavy  cloak  and  folded  it  around 
her.  "Come,"  he  said,  drawing  her  back  into  the 
seat  the  rocks  had  shaped  for  them  centuries  ago  ; 
and  the  throbbing  of  their  hearts,  the  rhythm  of 
the  sea,  and  the  silent  march  of  the  stars  were  all 
one  harmony. 

"  If  this  could  be  the  end  I"  she  murmured. 

"  There  is  no  end,"  he  answered,  and  laughed 
again,  daring  whatever  might  come.  "  There  are 
no  finalities,  as  there  are  no  beginnings.  I  have 
loved  you  always,  even  when  I  did  not  know  it," 

But  she,  nearer  in  her  ignorance  than  he  in  his 
wisdom  to  the  unrevealed  secret,  only  repeated^ 
"  If  this  could  be  the  end  !" 


FINIS 


THE    WORKS    OF 
WILLIAM    DEAN    HOWELLS 


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Joan  of  Arc.  It  is  characterized  by  the  simplicity  and  quaint 
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A     000132216     3 


